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THE 
A SELECTION OF EXTRACTS, 



CONSOLiATORY 



ON THE DEATH OF RELATIVES AND FRIENDS, 

FROM THE WRITINGS OF THE 

MOST EMIJK^EJSTT BIVIJSTES <§f OTHERS, 

INCLUDING 

DR. JOHNSON'S CELEBRATED SERMON 
ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE, 

TOGETHER WITH 

PRAYERS, 

JSUITED TO THE VARIOUS INSTANCES OF MORTALITY. 

BY JAMES ABERCROMBIE, D. D. 

Senior Assistant Minister of Christ Church, St. Peters, and St. Jameses, 
THE SECOND EDITION, IMPROVED. 



Blessed are they that moum, for they shall be comforted. 

Matt, V. 6- 



PHILADELPHIA. 
FTJBLISHED BY S. POTTER AND CO. 

No. 87 Chestnut Street, 
1821. 



0' 




<> 




Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 

BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the tenth day of 
February, in the forty -fifth year of the Independence 
of the United States of America, A. D. 1820, Samuel 
Potter & Co. of the said District, have deposited in 
this office the title of a book, the right whereof they 
claim, as proprietors, in the words following, to wit: 

" The Mourner comforted, a Selection of Extracts, consola- 
tory on the Death of Relatives and Friends, from the Writings 
of the most eminent Divines and Others, Including Dr. John- 
son'^s celebrated Sermon on the Death of his Wife, together with 
Prayers suited to the various instances of Mortality, by James 
Mercrombie, D. D. Senior Jissistant Minister of Christ Churchy 

St. Peters, and St. Jameses. The Second Edition, improved. 

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Matt, 
V. 6." 

In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, 
intituled "An act for the encouragement of learning, by secur- 
ing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and 
proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned." 
And also to the act, entitled, "An act supplementary to an act, 
entitled ' An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and pro- 
prietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned,' and 
extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engrav- 
ing, and etching historical and other prints." 

D. CALDWELL, 

Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



DEDICATION. 



TO THE 



Members of the E])iscojpal Congregations 



CHRIST CHURCH, ST. PETER's, AND ST. JAMES's. 



BELOVED BRETHREN, 

With the most affectionate regard for your temporal, 
and anxious solicitude for your eternal interests, I dedi- 
cate this volume to you: because it contains such conso- 
latory and salutary sentiments, as both duty and incli- 
nation v^ould impel me, as one of your spiritual guides, 
to suggest to you, in many of those severely trying exi- 
gencies of humanity, when the soothing remonstrances 
and advice of a spiritual pastor are acceptable and 
useful. 

From my unavoidable confinement in the Literary 
Institution over which I preside, you must be sensible, 
that it is not always in my power then to visit you as 
frequently as either you might wish, or my own sympa- 
thy would prompt. Under this painful restriction, I pre- 
sent to you, as a substitute for my personal attendance, 
when not able to give it, this Collection of Extracts, 
from the writings of some of the most eminent divines, 
and other wise and good men; exhibiting the authority 
derived from the Holy Scriptures in favour of the Im- 
mortality of the Soul, and the belief that, in a future 



iv DEDICATION. 

state of existence we shall recognize each othfir. To 
these I have added Prayers suited to the various in- 
stances of mortality which may occur: and I earnestly 
implore the Divine Blessing upon this humble endea- 
vour to mitigate the anguish of a wounded spirit^ and 
to direct the afflicted mind to those copious sources 
of consolation which Christianity offers to those who 
mourn. 

I remain^ brethren, 

With unfeigned respect, gratitude, and affection^ 

Your Friend and Pastor, 

JAMES ABERCROMBIE. 

PhiladeljiMay March 20, 1812. 



PREFACE 



To soot!i the anguish of a bleeding heart — to sup- 
press the sigh of sorrow — and mitigate the pangs of a 
wounded spirit— or rather, to cheer the disconsolate and 
dejected Mourner, and direct his views to the only solid 
and certain source of comfort and of confidence, is an 
undertaking, equally congenial with the spirit of Christi- 
anity, and the dictates of a humane and benevolent mind. 
For, of ^^ the various ills that flesh is heir to,^' surely 
none is capable of exciting such bitter agony, of so 
deeply lacerating the most refined and delicate sensibi- 
lities of our nature, and of extinguishing even the deshe 
of existence, as the death of a beloved relative or friend 
* — a parent, a child, or companion — who was dear to us 
as our own souls — whose presence exhilarated us, whose 
converse delighted us, whose endearing qualities awa- 
kened into action every virtuous aifection, and who was 
hound to us by every tie of social intercourse; — ^every 
fibre of the human heart. 

To produce this consolatory, this desirable effect, 
the wise, tiie pious, the humane, have, in various forms, 
exerted the powers of Genius, displayed the energies 
of Reason, and enforced the precepts, the promises of 
Christianity. The fascinating charms of Poetry, the 
persuasive deductions of Philos.ophy, and the soothing 
accents of " pure and undefiled Religion,'^ have been 
ofccasionally offered for the relief of the afflicted. A 
Blair, a Doddridge, a Young, a Milton, a Gray, and 
a Johnson, with n^iny olhers of equal celebrity, have 



y/i PREFACE. 

exerted their best abilities, the noblest powers of human 
intellect, in endeavouring to assuage the bitterness of 
grief, to elicit from the infliction its proper effect, and 
thereby to render it a blessing in disguise. 

A selection of the most interesting passages from the 
writings of such wise and good men, will, it is presum- 
ed, be peculiarly acceptable and useful to those who may 
be called upon to suffer the loss of relatives or friends, 
and who then stand most in need of spiritual consola- 
tion and advice. This conviction has operated, as the 
principal inducement with the editor, to make the com- 
pilation; and that more especially for the use of the 
three large congregations to which he has the privilege 
of administering. 

** Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud 
To damp our brainless ardours; and abate 
That glare of life, which often blinds the wise. 
Our djing friends are pioneers, to smooth 
Our rugged path to death, to break those bars 
Of terror and abhorrence. Nature throws 
Cross our obstructed way; and thus, to make 
Welcome as safe, our port from every storm. 

Smitten friends 
Are angels sent on errands full of love; 
For us they languish, and for us they die. 
And shall they languish, shall they die in vain? 
Ungrateful shall we grieve their hov'ring shades, 
Which wait the revolution in our hearts.^ 
Shall we disdain their silent soft address; 
Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer; 
Senseless as herds which graze their hallowed graves, 
Tread under foot their agonies and groans. 
Frustrate tlieir anguisli, and destroy their deaths.^" 

Voun^^'s J\right Thoughts, Sd B, 



CONTENTS. 



Dedication. - iii 

Preface. -.- v 

A Friendly Visit to the House of Mourning. - - - 1 
Extract from a Discourse bj the Rev. Dr. Harwood, on a 

Future State. 37 

Sermon by Bishop Bull, on a Middle State. - - - 45 
Rachel Comforted. — Extract from a Discourse by Bishop 

Home. -59 

Extract from a Sermon by Dr. G. Hill, on a Future State. - 65 
Extract from a Sermon by Dr. Blair, on the Happiness of a 

Future State. 71 

Extract from a Sermon by Archdeacon Shepherd, on a Fu- 
ture State. '75 

The Meditations of a Recluse by J. Brewster. - - 87 

Extract from Theologia Reformata by Dr. Edwards. - - 93 
Sermon by Archdeacon Paley, on our Knowledge of one 

another in a Future State. 101 

Sermon by Thomas Gisborne, on the Lesson in the burial 

Service. 107 

Extract from a Sermon by W. Jones, on the Resurrection. 121 

Sermon by the Rev. J. Drysdale, on the Hope of Heaven. 129 
Funeral Oration by Dr. P. Doddridge, against the fears of 

Death. 143 

The Christian's Defence by C. Drelincourt. - - - 149 
Dissertation by R. Price D, D., on our Knowledge of each 

other after Death. 155 

Sermon by Dr. Doddridge, on the Death of Children. - 173 
Extract from a Sermon by Dr. A. Maclaine, on Religious 

Principles. - 205 

The Christian's Consolation, in Domestic Distress. - - 209 

Consolations for the Afflicted, by Dr. Dodd. - - - 229 
Sir William Temple's Letter to Lady Essex, on the Death 

of her only Daughter. 247 

Sermon on Death by Dr. H. Blair. . - , - 259 



viii O0NTENT&. 

Sermon by Dr. S. Johnson, on the DeatTi of his Wife. - - 265 
Sermon on Religious Consolation by R. Morehead. - - 279 
Extract from The Mourner by Dr. Grosvenor. - - 287 

Sermon on the Death of a beloved Pupil by Dr. W. Smith. 303 
Sermon by the Rev. Jacob Duche, A. M. on Hope in God. S17 
Extract from a Sermon, on the Christian's Victory over 

Death, by the Rev. J. S. J. Gardiner. - - - - 527 
Extract from a Sermon on the Death of Dr. Sprout, by Ash- 

bel Green, D. D. 333 

Extract from a Discourse on the Happiness of Good Men in 

a Future State by Samuel Stanhope Smith, D. D. - - 339 
Consolatory Reflections on Death by Charles H. Wharton, 

D. D. in a Letter to a Friend. 349 

Letter from Dr. I. Langhorne to a Lady, on the Death of 

her -Daughter. 357 

Letter from the Rev. Job Orton to Dr. Stonehouse, on the 

Death of his Daughter. 363 

Letter from Dugal Buchannan to a Friend, on the Death of 

a Favourite Daughter. 367 

A Pathetic Letter by T. I., on the Death of a Child. - 371 

A Monument to the Memory of Eliza Cuningham, by John 

Newton. 375 

Original Letter of Dr. Johnson's. 395 

Consolation for the Afflicted, by Philo. - - . - 399 
Consolations in the Death of Infants, by W. Harris, D.D. 403 
Monody to the Memory of an only Daughter by her Father. 419 
Lines on the Death of a Child at Daybreak, by the Rev. R. 

Cecil. 425 

Poetical Inscription on i\\& Tombstone of an Infant. - - 427 
Lines selected from Dr. Young's Night Thoughts. - - 429 

PRAYERS, 

Accommodated to the various instances of Mortality. - - 431 

Introductory Prayer. ih. 

Prayer for a Parent on the Death of a Child. - - - ih. 
Prayer for a Child on the Death of a Parent. - - - 432 
Prayer for a Husband on the Death of his Wife. - - 433 
Prayer for a Wife on the Death of her Husband. - - 434 

Prayer on the Death of a Friend. 435 

Prayer to be useil in a Family on the Death of any of its 
Members. 435 






YOUR present afflictiou^ my dear friend^ demands 
something more than the usual forms of condolence. 
Sorrow, which like yours, cannot be prevented, may 
yet be alleviated and improved. This is my design in 
addressing you, and if I seem to intrude upon your re- 
tirement, let my motive be my apology. Having felt 
how much letter it is to go to the house of mourning 
than to the house of feasting;^ having received my best 
lessons, companions, and even comforts in it; I would 
administer from my little stock of experience: and 
while I thus endeavour to assist your meditations, shall 
rejoice if I may contribute, though but a mite, to your 
comfort. 

Were I, indeed, acquainted with the peculiar cir- 
cumstances of your loss, I should employ particular 
considerations: but my present address can have only 
a general aim; which is to acquaint the heart, at a fa- 
vourable moment, with its grand concerns, to give it 
a serious impression when softened; and an heavenly 
direction when moved. Let us, therefore, sit down hum- 
bly together in this house of mourning: If the heart of 
the wise he founds here, your experience, I hope, will 
prove that here also it informed: and let us calmly con- 
template some momentous objects intimately connected 
with it, and viewed with peculiar advantage from it. 

*Bccl. vii. 2. fEccl. vii. 4. 

1 



2 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

Our god is the first of these objects: with him we 
seldom form any close acquaintance till we meet him 
in trouble. He commands silence now, that He may 
be heard; and removes intervening objects, that He may 
be seen. A Sovereign Disposer appears, Avho, as 
Lord of all, hath only resumed what he lent; whose 
will is the law of his creatures; and who expressly de- 
clares his will in the present affliction. We should se- 
riously consider, that all allovred repugnance to the de- 
terminations of his government, (however made known 
to us) is sin; and that every wish to alter the appoint- 
ments of his wisdom is folly: we know not ivhat we 
ask, — When God discovers himself in any matter, 
those who know him, will keep silence before Jiim,^ 
Shall he that contendeth icith the Almighty instruct him? 
How just was the reply; "Behold J am vile! what shall 
I answer thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth.^^-\ 

This silent submission under trying dispensations, is 
variously exemplified as well as inculcated in the Scrip- 
tures. An awful instance of sin and sorrow occurs in 
the family of Aaron; his sons disregarded a divine ap- 
pointment, and there went out fire from the Lord, and 
devoured them; hut Aaron held his peace.X Eli, in si- 
milar circumstances, silenced his heart with this single 
but sufficient consideration, "It is the LordJ^ — David, 
under a stroke which he declares consumed him, ob- 
serves, " I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because 
THO U didst it.'^W And Job, when stript of every com- 
fort, blessed the name of Him who took away, as well 
as gave.^ Whatever be the nature of your calamity, 
may it be attended with such an humble and child-like 
spirit as these possessed! 

But the Sovereign Disposer is also the Compas- 
sionate Father. Amonii: other instances of his ten- 
derness, you may have observed the peculiar supports 
he affords under peculiar trials. I^et us mark, and ac- 
knowledge, the hand which mingles mercy with judg- 

* Ilab. ii. 20. t Lev. x. 2, .I. \\ Psalm xxxix. 9. 

t Job xl. 2—4. § 1 Sam. iii. 18. f Job i. 21. 



TO THK HOUSE OF MOURNING. 3 

ment, and alleviatiou with distress. The parents I have 
just mentioned lost their children^ under circumstances 
far more distressing than yours: — The desire of your 
eyes (if not the idol of your heart) was. perhaps, al- 
most a stranger: you strove hard to detain it, but He, 
who took the young children into his arms and blessed 
them, took yours: and taking it, seemed to say, What 
I do thou Jcnoivest not iioic, but thou shalt Jcnoiv here- 
after;^ — patiently suffer this little one to come unto 
me, for of such is my kingdom^ composed:— I^e/'zYz^ / 
say unto you, that in heaven their angels do alivays he- 
hold the face of my Father. % "\i I take away your 
child, I take it to myself — Is not this infinitely beyond 
any thing you could do for it? Could you say to it, if it 
had lived, ' Thou slialt weep no more, the days of thy 
mourning are endedP^ Could you shew it any thing in 
this world like the glory of God, and of the Lamh?\\ 
Could you raise it to any honour here like receiving a 
croicn of lifeP^^^ 

The voice of a Father of mercies and a God of all 
comfoii^^^ speaks as distinctly in the death as in the 
birth of an infant. " A voice was heard in Ramali, la- 
mentation and bitter weeping; Rachel, weeping for her 
children, refused to be comforted, because they were not. 
Thus saith the Lord, ' refrain thy voice from weeping, 
and thine eyes from tears, for there is hope in thine end, 
saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again to 
their own border, ft It is not the will of your heavenly 
Father that one of these little ones should perish.^ ^^JJ 

It is a pious friend that has just yielded up his 
breath! The same voice seems to say, ^^Turn from 
him, or rather turn from his clay — his faded garment. 
— He himself is taken fro?n the evil to come; — he is 
entered into peace,''' ^\ 

When the able minister, the exemplary parent, or 
the faithful partner depart, a consternation often seizes 

* John xlii. 7. |! Rev. xxii. 23. ff Jer. s%-. 17. 

f Matt. X. 14. % James i. 12. \^ Matt, xviii. 14. 

+ Matt, xviii. 10. ** 2 Cor. i. 3. % Isa. Ivii. 1, 2. 
f !sa.'xx>E, 19. 



4 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

the circles which they blessed. We are so stunned by 
the sudden blow, or occupied with the distressing cir- 
cumstances, that we scarcely can hear God saying, 
" Fear not, I, even J, am lie that comforteth you:^ I, 
your Father, am yet alive; I gave you your departed 
friend; I sent every benefit which was conveyed through 
him; trust me for blessings yet in store; trust me with 
him, and with yourselves/^ 

Whatever notions one who lives without God in the 
world may form of dying, we should learn from his 
word to regard it merely as a translation, — a change in 
which nothing is lost which is really valuable. As 
surely as we believe that Jesus died and rose again, so 
surely do we believe that them also which sleep in Je- 
sus, will God bring with him.-f Taught of God, we 
should view losses, sickness, pain, and death, but ag 
the several trying stages by which a good man, like 
Joseph, is conducted from a te7it to a court. Sin liis 
disorder; Christ his physician; pain his medicine; the 
bible his support; the grave his bed; and death itself an 
angel, expressly sent to release the worn-out labourer, or 
crown the faithful soldier. '^1 heard a voice from hea- 
ven, saying unto me, write, blessed are the dead, which 
die in the Lord^ from henceforth; Yea, saith the Spirit, 
that they may rest from their labours; and their works 
follow them.^^t 

But admitting the state of your departed friend to be 
doubtful, yet in all cases that are really so, let us culti- 
vate honourable thoughts of God; let us remember the 
Faithful Creator. Righteousness is his throne, 
though clouds surround it. Whatever he has left ob- 
scure we may safely leave him to explain. Let us re- 
collect that, amidst innumerable obscurities, he hath 
made things clear in proportion, as they are important; 
and therefore repeatedly urges it upon our conscience, 
that the door is still open to us; — that it is awful to 
stand before it unresolved; — that we must trust him to 
day; — and that to-morrow he will equally remove our 
conjectures and our complaints. 

♦ Isa. li. 12. t I Thess. iv. 14. 4 Kev. xiv. 13. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 5 

Perhaps you are ready to reply^ '^ I have heard 
many such things; and I also could speaJc as you do, if 
your soul were in my souVs stead:^'^ but my heart, and 
my expectations are so crushed by this blow, that I 
can hear nothing but '' thy bruise is incurable^ and thy 
wound grievous; — thou hast no healing medicines, ^^f 

Beware, however, of falling into their sin who li- 
mited the Holy One of Israel. X There is a charge con- 
tinually brought against man, that in his troubles, the 
source and the resource are equally forgotten. Though 
affliction cometh not forth of the dust,^ — yet none sdthj 
where is God, my Maker, idio giveth songs in the 
nightP\\ Endeavour then, in extremities, to recollect an 
ALL-SUFFICIENT FRIEND — a Very present help in trou- 
ble. He at least may add (as he does in the passage 
just alluded to) ^' I itnll restore health unto thee, atd I 
will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord,^^ Caiinot 
the voice which rebuked a tempestuous sea, calm our 
troubled spirits? Is his hand shortened at all, that he 
cannot bless our latter end, like Job's, more than the 
beginning?^ Is it not the Lord that maketh poor, ind 
maJceth rich; that bringeth low and lifteth uj??^^ Many, 
whose hearts have been desolate like yours, while tliey 
have looked around, have at length looked upward 
unto Him, and been lightened /-[-f A single promise has 
aJBTorded them not only relief, but strong consolation. 

Let us, therefore, my dear friend, turn again to tUs 
strong hold as prisoners of hope: even to-day can he 
render double unto us.^t I'et us look to Abraham^ s 
God, and his encouragement is ours; '^ Fear not, — / 
am God Almighty^J — q. d, I am all-sufficient in all 
cases: I am enough; and able to do exceeding abun- 
dantly above all that you ask or think. || || I have taken 
away thy gourd, but dost tliou well to be angry? — 
Have I left nothing for thankfulness? — This world, 
however, cannot be your home, nor its objects your con- 



* Job xvi. 2—4. 


1) Job XXXV. 10. 


tt Zech. ix. 12 


t Jer. XXX. 12, 13. 


% Job xlii. 12. 


§§ Gen. xvii. 1. 


+ Psalm Ixxviii. 41. 


** 1 Sam. ii. 7. 


Ilil Eph. iii. 20. 


§ Job V. 6. 


ft Psalm sxxiv. 5. 





6 A FRIENDLY VISIT , 

solaiion: they are all too poor for the soul of man. Look 
unto me and be saved:^ — Acquaint thyself with me, and 
he at peace:\ Followme, and you shall not walk in dark- 
ness j hut have the light of life.X However dark and 
distressing the present state of things may appear^ com- 
mit thy fatherless children to my care, I will preserve 
them alive; and let the widows trust in me.^-'^ 

Still the beloved object is gone^ and your heart fol 
lows it. You can scarcely receive counsel from infinite 
wisdom, or comfort from Omnipotence. To every fresh 
encouragement you are ready to reply, ^^ Wilt thou 
shew wonders to the dead? — Shall the dead arise and 
praise thee? — Shall thy loving kindness he declared in 
the p^ave? oi' thy faithfulness in destruction?^^ \\ His word 
repeatedly assures you they shall; and that all that 
are in the graves shall hear his voice :^ but it informs 
you also, that he can do abundantly more for the liv- 
ing than merely restore their dead friends, or revive 
their fainting spirits; — it teaches you that he can sanc- 
tify the separation, — that he can give a divine life to 
the survivor, though dead in trespasses and sins,^'^ and 
inseparably unite both in his kingdom. If the Com- 
forter could make up for tlie loss of Chrisfs bodily 
presence; yea, make it even expedient that he should 
go tway;-\-\ how much more can lie supply the place of 
every creature! 

May this Comforteh, writing his word in your 
mind, help you to say witli a confidence higldy ho- 
nourable to himself and his gospel, ^^My poor perish- 
ing gourd is, indeed, withered a day before I expected 
it; — my broken reed is gone; — but God is left, — a fa- 
ther to the fatherless, — an husband to the widow, %% — ^^d 
now, Lord, what wait I for? truly my hope is in thee.^ 
Thou canst give me, in thine house, a jjlace and a name 
better than of sons and of daughter's, even, a7i everlast- 
ing name which shall not be cutoff;\\\\ and therefore, 

* Isa. xlv. 22. II Psalmlxxxviii. 10, 11. 4t Psalm Ixviii. 5. 

f Job xxii. 21. II John v. 28. §§ Psalm xxxix. 7. 

i .lohn viii. 12. ** Epl». ii. 1. |||| Isa. Ivi. 5. 

j Jer. xlix. 11. fj John xvi. 7- 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 7 

ihough the fig-tr^ee shall not blossomj neither shall fruit 
he in the vine, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy 
in the God of my salvation/'* 

Once more; let us endeavour, at such seasons as 
these, to recognise a Gracious Monitor. Whenever 
the Lord stnkes, he speaks. Let us listen at such a 
time as this with humble attention, yet with holy con- 
fidence, for it is the voice of a friend, — a wonderful 
counsellor. Let us Avith the prophet resolve to ascend 
the tower of observation, and observe what he will saif 
unto us, and what we shall answer when tee are reproved. 
If with him we tluis watch our dispensation, at the 
end, like his, it shall speak. ^ 

God is continually raising up witnesses, and sending 
them in liis name to sound the alarm in Zian.X He 
charges them to admonish the wise, as w ell as the fool- 
ish virgins, to beware of slumbering, since the bride- 
groom is at hand: and when one is called away, to cry 
to those that remain. Be ye also ready, for in such an 
hour as ye think not, the Son of J\Ian cometh.^ Some 
indeed, like the sons of Lot, desperately scorn the 
admonition, and treat it as the fear of dotage. |1 Some, 
like those in the Acts, are in doubt, saying one to an- 
other, " What meaneth thisV^ — and others mocking re- 
ply, " These men are full of new wine.^^^ But truth, 
like a rock furiously assaulted, but unshaken, remains 
to scorn its scorners: and, while the witnesses continue 
to bear a faithful and consistent testimony, God, sooner 
or later, appears in vindication of their integrity and 
his own word. Entering a careless family, he smites 
the first-born; and, as one that will be heard, calls 
aloud, "Jlicake, thou that steepest; arise from the dead, 
and Christ shall give thee light.^^^^ 

And is it not, my afflicted friend, an infinite mercy, 
if, by any means, God will enter with such a light — 
that he will rouse such a sleeper? — that, by his minis- 
ter Death, he will arrest the attention of him who has 

* Hab. iii. 17, 18. § Matt. xxiv. 44. H Acts ii. 12, 13. 

t Hab. ii. 1—3. II Gen. xix. 14. ** Eph. v. 14. 

T Jeel ii. 1. 



S A FRIENDLY VISIT 

•lighted every other minister? — What patience! what 
long-suffering! to take such an one apart; bring him 
from noise and occupation into the secret and silent 
chamber; speak to his heart; and seal the most impor- 
tant truths on it, by the most affecting impressions! Is 
it not saying, ''How shall I give thee uj), Ephraimf 
How shall I make thee as Admahf^^^ Certain it is, that 
questions, which before only reached the ear, often 
now, like barbed arrows, remain fixed in the conscience 
-^conscience, no longer stifled or amused, discovers 
the CONTENDER, and, trembling before him, cries, 
'' Thou hast chastised me, and I was chastised as a hul- 
lock unaccustomed to the yoke: turn thou me, and I shall 
be turned, far thou art the Lord my God,''[ 

This, I say, is often the case, and should it be rea- 
lized in yours, as it has been in that of your present 
visiter; if, instead of flying for relief to every object 
but God, you are brought humbly to his feet with pa- 
tient submission, serious inquiry, fervent prayer, holy 
resolution, and firm reliance; if, in a word, by the se- 
verest stroke, the enchantment is also broken, — your 
soul escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowler, % 
and returned to its proper rest; what reason will yoii 
have to say. 

Those we call ivretched are a chosen band. 

Amit) my list of blessings infinite, 

Stand this the foremost, — '' That my heart has bled.^^ 

For all I bless thee; — most, for the severe; 

Her death, — my own at hand 

But death at hand (as an old writer expresses it) 
should be death in view, and lead us to consider next 

Our prospects from this house of sorrow, as 
the inhabitants of a present and future world. Many 
suppose that they can best contemplate the present 
world by crowding the house of mirth;) their whole 
deportment, however, shows that it makes tliem much 
too giddy for serious observation: — having eyes, they 
see not II 

• Hosea xi. 8. + Psalm cxxiv. 7- || Mark viii. 18. 

j Jer. xxxi. 18. § Eccl. vii. 4. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 9 

Look at the deceased^ and contemplate present 
things. His days an hand-breadth; — liis beauty con- 
sumed like the moth-fretten garment; — his cares and 
pleasures a dream; his attainments as the grass^ Avhich 
flourisheth in the morning, and in the evening is cut 
down and withereth; — his years a tale; — his strength, 
labour and sorroic. So soon is the whole cut off and fled^ 
that we cannot help repeating with the Psalmist, Verily 
— every man — at his best estate — is altogether vanity,* 
— or a vapour that appearethfar a little while^ and then 
vanisheth away.-\ 

Few, perhaps, reflect, when they follow a friend to 
his grave, that life itself exhibits little more than a fu- 
neral procession, where friend follows friend, weeping 
to-day and wept for to-morrow. While we are talking 
of one, another passes — we are alarmed, but behold a 
third! There is, however, relief in this very reflection; 
'' My friend is gone, but am I weeping as if I were to 
stay? Is he sent for in the morning? in the afternoon I 
shall certainly be called.^^ Inconsolable distress, there- 
fore, may ungird our loins, may waste our hours, and 
cause us to make fatal mistakes in the journey, but 
does not bring us forward a single step towards meet- 
ing our friends in that state, where present joys and 
sorrows will be recollected only as the dream of a dis- 
tempered night. 

If, after many former admonitions, an enemy still 
urged us to climb; and, as we ascended, pointed to the 
kingdoms of the world and the glory of them;X if our 
hearts have been the dupes of the vanishing prospect, 
and our ears eagerly heard the proposal, "all these 
things will I give thee;) let us now hear the voice of a 
FRIEND, calling us, though in an unexpected way, to 
commune with our heart and be still;\\ to know, at least 
in this our day of visitation^ the things which belong to 
our peace;^ and also what those things are which hide 
them from our eyes, 

* Psalm xxxlx. and xc. i Matt. Iv. 8. || Psalm iv. 4. 
t James iv. 14. i Matt; iv. 9. 11 Luke xix. 42. 

2 



19 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

It is at such seasons as these, that we more clearly 
detect tlie lies of life. It is in the house of mourning 
that, what the Scripture calls lying vanities, lie pecu- 
liarly naked and exposed. Let us here examine what 
so lately dazzled us. What now is the purple and fine 
linen* that caught our eye? What is it to fare sump- 
tuously only for a dayP Who is he that cries, '^ Sovl, 
thou hast much goods laid up for many years, take thine 
ease, eat, drink, and he merryP^^-\ I trust you now feel 
the deep misery and utter ruin of that dying creature, 
who can say nothing better to his soul than this. You 
can scarcely help crying out, ^^ What sottishness, what 
madness this, in a moment so interesting as life! — with 
a prospect so awful as eternity?^^ 

The truth is, God speaks variously and incessantly 
to man respecting his prospects both present and fu- 
ture; but present things seize his heart, blind his eyes, 
stupify his conscience, and carry him away captive. 
Now ^^ affliction is God speaking louder,^* and striving 
with the heart of man: — crying, as he has lately in your 
house, ^^ Arise and depart, this is not your rest; it is 
polluted; and, if you persist in attempting to make a 
rest of it, will destroy you with a sore destruction,^^ ^ 

Our plan, indeed, is the very reverse of his: we love 
our native soil, and try to strike our roots deeper and 
deeper into it: firmly fixed in earth, we would fain 
draw our whole life, strength, and nourishment, from it. 
And here we should not onlj fade as a leaf) but, with 
every tree that beareth not good fruit, be hewn down and 
cast into thefire,\\ did not mercy interpose. 

We seldom, however, discern mercy in its first ap- 
proach. Is it mercy that tears me up by the roots? — 
that cuts the fibres of sweetest union? — Does it prune 
away the finest branches? nip the loveliest buds? and 
cover the earth with blossoms? — Yes, verily, — since 
the very life of the whole often depends upon the re- 
moval of a part, mercy will wound to heal: regard to 



* Luke xvi. 19. + Mic. ii. 10. jj Matt. iii. 10. 

f Luke xii. 19. § Is a. Ixiv. 6. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 11 

the tree will strip off its most flourishing suckers: the 
great Husbandman will not fail to adopt the sharpest 
means for the improvement of his choicest plants: for 
every branch that beo.reth fruit he purgeth it, that it may 
bnng forth more fruit. ^ Though the Lord cause grief 
yet it is in compassion^ and according to the multitudp. 
of his mercies, for he doth not affiict willingly, nor 
grieve the children of meni-f but soon or late instructs 
all his children to say, " I know, Lord, that thy 
judgments are right; and that thou in faithfulness hast 
afflicted me^X 

Let not, Therefore, the change of the present scene 
discompose but direct us: it changes, in order to pre- 
sent the only unchangeable one. By thus rending the 
veils which men try to throw^ over a dying state, and 
discovering tekel^ written on every creature, the 
most careless are often so roused, that they seem to 
awake and recover themselves: they appear, for a time 
at least, to become wise, to understand these things, and 
seriously to consider their latter end.\\ May this salu- 
tary impression, however, my dear friend, never be 
worn from your mind, but lead you habitually to look 
from this fading, to that abiding prospect which is to 
be found only in the Eternal World, — and on which 
it may be necessary here to drop a reflection or two. 

I think you must often have remarked that the ur- 
gency and bustle of present things, not only raise a 
cloud of dust before our future prospects, but early be- 
get a false principle that the present life is the only one. 
You must also have observed that ten thousand false 
maxims, which daily fly through the world, take their 
rise from this prime falsehood. Whereas, in fact, the 
present life, instead of being the tvhole, is compara- 
tively nothing; — a stage, ?ipm^ch, a dream, a weary day's 
journey. What is this drop to the ocean before us? 
What this moment to eternity? As a theatre, indeed, 
in which Grod exhibits the wonders of his providence 

* John XV. 2. t Psalm cxix. 75. |) Deut. xxxii. 29. 

f Lam. iii. 32, 33. § i. e. wanting. Dan. v. 27. 




12 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

and grace; or as a stage, on which we are to act oar 
parts without any opportunity of repetition; the present 
state is infinitely grand and important: but surely no 
greater imposition can be put upon the pilgrim than to 
persuade him that he is at home; or to make him forget 
and drown his eternal interests in such a vision of the 
night as life. 

Do you not, my dear friend, sensibly perceive this? 
While you sit here, does not the cloud break, and the 
mist subside? Have you not already so realized a bet- 
ter y that is an heavenly country,^ as to admire him who 
pitched only a tent here,t but steadfastly looked for a 
a city that hath foundations? % Are you not ready to take 
hold of the skirt of this Jew, saying, ^^ We will go zcith 
you, fm^ we have heard that God is with youP^^ 

Seeing this, you only see truths ever exhibited in 
the Scriptures, and living principles in all who are 
taught of God;\\ for he alone can enable us to use his 
own discoveries; and how gracious is he^ when he re- 
moves any object which might prevent our thus seeing 
himself, liis kingdom, and his righteousness? or whose 
removal may prove the occasion of our seeking them? 

Just before the flood, there were, doubtless, among 
ilmv men of renowrif^ admired projectors; but there ap- 
pears to have been but one truly wise man among them; 
one who saw and seriously regarded his prospects. 
And he, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, 
moved ivith fear, prepared an ark to the saving of his 
house.^^ Now such a man is the Christian. He feels 
the world passing away, with the lusts thereof but he 
that doeth the will of God abidethfor ever.-f-f ^^I feel,'^ 
says he, " that however finely they dress the pageant 
of this world, it passeth by;Xt ^^ ^ creature like me, go- 
ing, hastening, such an ark is Avorth more than ten 
thousand dying worlds. Let the gay laugh; let the des- 
pisers wonder and perish; ^^ with such prospects before 

* Heb. xl. 16. I) John vi. 45. ff 1 John ii. 17. 

t Heb. xi. 9. ^ Gen. vi. 4. H 1 Cor. vii. 31. 

t Heb. xi. 10. ** Heb, xi. 7. §§ Acts xiii. 41. 
§ Zcch. viii. 23. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 13 

me, I must be serious. He that cannot lie lias revealed 
the terrors as well as the glories of a future state: he 
speaks of a worm that dietk not, and a fire that is not 
quenched,^ as well as of a fulness of joy and j^leasures 
for evermore.-\ I must not, I dare not, slmt my eyes 
against these awful realities. I will not sacrifice my 
soul to a jest, nor miss the single opportunity afforded 
me, for its salvation. He that calls for my whole heart 
is worthy of it: while the things which have hitherto 
engrossed it, though they cannot satisfy, I find they can 
ruin it — Inill therefore arise and go to my Father^X — to 
my Saviour, who has promised to cast out none that 
come unto Ilim,^ Yea, doubtless, I count all things hut 
loss, that I may he found in him,\\ tlie true ark, the only 
REFUGE which God has provided for perishing sinners.'^ 

Such a man, indeed, is the Christian, but the Chris- 
tian, after all, is but a man. In a state like this, he needs 
to be continually reminded of his own principles. Even 
the wise Virgin slumbers though the Bridegroom is at 
hand. But a cry is often made in the family, before that 
which will at midnight awaken the world: one like that 
in the house of Pharaoh for his first-born; or that so 
lately lieard in yours, — A cry, which, while it rouses 
the sleeper, fills his eyes Avith tears and his heart with 
pangs; often produces such views of God, of the pre- 
sent, and of the eternal state, as all other monitors 
would have attempted in vain. 

Here then, my afflicted, but, I hope, instructed, 
friend, let us study the heavenly science of gaining by 
losses, and rising by depressions. Leaving the wilder- 
ness, like Moses, let us ascend the mount of scriptural 
discovery, and survey a prospect of which his was but 
a shadow. — Let us look from vicissitude and desolation 
to what alone is incorruptible, undefiled, and fadeth not 
away;^ and, in the house of affliction and death, let us 
contemplate a house not made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens.^* How refreshing to look from a family bereft 

* Mark ix. 44. § Jolm vi. 3". t 1 Pet. i. 4^ - 

t Psalm xvi. 11. \\ Philip, iii. 8, 9. **= 2 Cor, 

t Luke XV. 18, 



14 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

of its companions and comforts to ^^ Mount Zion, the 
city of the living God^ the heavenly Jerusalem; to an 
innumerable company of angels; and to the general as- 
sembly and church of the first-born which are written 
in heaven! '^^ — the only family which cannot be divi- 
ded: — the only friendsliip which shall not disappoint 
our warmest expectation. 

Glorious as this prospect is, (perhaps you are ready 
to reply) " I have been long in the habit of viewing it 
very indistinctly. My attention has been so fixed on one 
below, that I live looking into the grave rather than he- 
yond it. My spirits are so broken, my lieart so wound- 
ed, and my eyes so dim with watching and weeping, 
that I can hardly read what is before me, or recollect 
what I read. If serious reflection composes me for a 
few moments, I soon relapse, and seem to lose sight of 
every support. I indeed severely feel what you say con- 
cerning the 2^^'esent life, but I view the glories of the fu- 
ture like a starving creature, w ho, looking through the 
gate of the wealthy, surveys a plenty which but in- 
creases his anguish.'^ 

There is, however, this difference, at least, between 
your cases; the plenty which ijoii see is yours, if you 
are really willing to accept it. You never received a 
gift which was so freely bestowed, or so suited to your 
necessity, as that gift of God, which is eternal life 
through Jesus Chnst.-\ In order to view this more dis- 
tinctly, let us consider the sufficiency of 

Our provisions— For ^^ Wisdom hath built 
her house, she hath killed her beasts, she hath mingled 
her wine, and furnished her table. She also crieth upon 
the highest places of the city, ' Whoso is simple let 
him turn in hither;' and to him that wanteth under- 
standing she sayeth, ' Come, eat of my bread, and 
drink of the wine which I have mingled; forsake the 
foolish and live.' ''+ 

Man, indeed, is daily reminded by the thorns at 
his feet, by the sweat of his brow, and by the dust to 

* Heb. xii. 22, 23. f Rom. vi. 23. + Prov. ix. 1—6. 




TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING-. 15 

which he is returning^ that his paradise is lost:^ but pa- 
radise regained is considered rather as an idea; a sub- 
ject for poetry. That book^ liowever, which I hope you 
have chosen as your best companion in the house of 
mourning, like the vision of Jacob, not only shews the 
heavens opened, but discovers a gracious medium of 
communication and intercourse, as it were a ladder let 
doicn from heaven to earih.-\ A medium so suited to 
the state of man, that the weakest and vilest, who is 
humble enough to take hold of it as God's ordinance; 
advance a step at a time; and call for strength to pro- 
ceed; may climb by it from earth to heaven. J 

Are you, my dear friend, among the number of those 
who stand before God not only as stript of their corn- 
forts, but humbled under sin as the cause of all the 
desolations with which our fallen state abounds? Open 
your book at the sixty-first chapter of Isaiah: you will 
there perceive the most precious privilege of Paradise 
restored: the Creator descending to tlie condition and 
wants of his creature, and once more holding communimi 
with him. The hrohen-hearted, the captive, and the 
mourner, are here shewn One mighty to save and to 
relieve: and, that such should not mistake their friend, 
when our Lord stood up in the synagogue to read, he 
selected this passage, and, having read it, he closed 
the book with saying, " This day is this scripture ful- 
filled in your ears, ^^ "\ am, as if he had said, this 
Deliverer and Desire of nations;\\ the same yesterday, 
to-day, and for ever:^ blessed are they that mourn; fm^ 
they shall he comforted:^^ — blessed are ye that hungei^ 
now; for ye shall he filled: — blessed are ye that weep 
now; for ye shall laugh,^^-\-\ 

I scarcely need observe that, in an address like this, 
(a bow drawn at a venture) formal statements of the 
diff'erent topics would be improper; and, therefore, I 
shall not attempt to describe, in their order, the various 
provisions comprehended in that scheme of redemption, 

• Gen. iii. 18, I9'. § Luke iv. 21. If Heb. xiii. 8. 

t Gen. xxviii. 12. || Hag;, ii. 7. ** Matt. v. 4. 

:j: Compare Genesis xxviii. with John i. 51. ff Luke vi. 21. 



16 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

usually termed the Gospel. It may be necessary, how- 
ever, to remark, that the whole is a proposal to the bro- 
ken heari, answering all its objections, and meeting all 
its wants: and that such a proposal will be cordially re- 
ceived only in proportion as this disposition prevails. 

As it is the sick who best knows how to value a 
physician, the debtor a surety, and the criminal a par- 
don; so it is the awakened conscience alone which will 
embrace a constitution calculated to humble the pride, 
and mortify the corruptions , as well as relieve the 
wants, of man. If without shedding of blood there can he 
no remission,^ he, Avho is earnest to obtain it, will re- 
joice to find it though on the accursed tree: and, how- 
ever the jirecwhing of this cross shall be esteemed fool- 
ishness among them that perish,]- such an one will not 
only rejoice in the provision, but magnify the means. 
" God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, by tchom the icorld is crucified unto 
me, and I unto the world.' ^t 

Our Lord represents the blessings of his kingdom 
under the parable of a magnificent feast, which a king 
made for the marriage of his son; but when all things 
were ready, and invitations repeatedly sent, he points 
out the ruin of the world in its indisposition to accept 
his gracious proposal. They made light of it, and went 
their ways! However different their pursuits, they all 
agreed to reject the invitation; they began with one con- 
sent to make excuse: some urged reasons, and some 
abused the messengers; but what is this more than the 
history of human nature in every age?^ 

Let us, however, my dear friend, never forget that 
the gate lately mentioned, though straight, is open; and 
that only unbelief and indisposition stand without. 
Christ has declared that all things are ready; may his 
gracious influence, accompanying this humbling provi- 
dence, form in you a spiritual taste for them! Certain I 
am, that whenever this is attained, his name will be as 
ointment poured forth;\\ — it will give a savour even to 
obsolete poetry. 

* Heb. ix. 22. i Gal. vl. 14. 1| Cant. i. 3. 

1 1 Cor. i. 18. § Matt. ssii. 1—6. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 17 

Christ is a path — If anj be misled; 

He is a robe — if any naked be; 

If any chance to hunger — he is bread; 

If any be a bondman — he is free; 

If any be but weak — how strong is he! 

To dead men life he is; to sick men health; 

To blind men sight; and to the needy wealth; 

A pleasure without loss; a treasure without stealth. 

To prepare the heart for the reception of this trea- 
sure, as a God of order, he is pleased to use a system 
of means; one of which I hope he is now employing for 
your souPs health. I love to indulge hope, for affliction 
is a seed-time; and let me freely inquire, since God has 
called you aside, has spoken so emphatically, and you 
have had leisure for serious meditation, do not the pro- 
visions of the Gospel appear new, sufficient, and exact- 
ly suited to your case? l)o you not mark that gold 
which the thief cannot steal? that foundation which no 
tempest can shake? that life over which death hath no 
power? and that peace which the world can neither 
give nor take away? Does not the religion of Jesus, 
that is so forgotten and degraded among men, stand 
forward now as the one thing needful? Does not his 
friendship appear now to be that better jiart which shall 
not he taken awaij;^ and which alone can help in ex- 
tremities? In the wreck of human affairs, indeed, it is 
that God often makes his truth appear; and causes his 
gospel, (like a plank thrown out to the perishing ma- 
riner) to be properly known and prized. 

^^ These are the great occasions which force the 
mind to take refuge in religion: When we have no help 
in ourselves, what can remain but that we look up to a 
higher and a greater Power? and to Avhat hope may we 
not raise our eyes and hearts, when we consider that 
the GREATEST Foivev is the best?^^ 

'' Surely there is no [truly wise] man who, thus af- 
flicted, does not seek succour in the gospel which has 
brought life and immortality to light. The precepts of 

* lAike X. 42. 



18 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

Epicurus, who teaches us to endure what the laws of 
the universe make necessary, may silence, but not con- 
tent us. The dictates of Zend, who commands us to 
look with indifference on external things, may dispose 
us to conceal our sorrow, but cannot assuage it. Real 
alleviation of the loss of friends, and rational tranquil- 
lity in the prospect of our own dissolution, can be re- 
ceived only from the promises of Him in whose hands 
are life and death, and from the assurances of another 
and better state, in which all tears will be wiped from 
the eyes, and the whole soul shall be filled with joy. 
Philosophy may infuse stubbornness, but religion 
only can give patience.^^* 

In health and ease, ingenious speculations may amuse 
and satisfy us; but I think you now feel, witli me, that 
when He takes away the desire of our eyes with a 8troke,f 
our sorroAvs are too deep to be alleviated by the mere 
orator or philosopher; we even turn in disgust from him 
who would thus trifle vdth our case; we need a support 
the world cannot afford. ^^ I faint,^^ says the wounded 
soul: ^' I want an almighty arm to lean on now; yea, a 
very tender and compassionate one too; — one like that 
of the Son of man. I need a merciful and faithful high 
priest, who, having been tempted, knows how to succour 
the tempted;^ — that man of sorrows, that brother born 
for adversity, who, being acquainted with grief can en- 
ter into my case, and commune with me in all the pe- 
culiarities of my distress. I now need one, who can 
quiet me on his own breast, and speak to me with his 
own voice, Weep not, the child is not dead, but sleep- 
eth,^ Weep not, thou afflicted', tossed with tempest, — 
when thou passest through the waters I will be with 
thee,\\ It is true, this is the land of death, but I am 
the( resurrection and the life;^ — this is, indeed, a dry 
and thirsty land where no water is;** but I will lead 
you to fountains of living waters: I will wipe away all 
tears from your eyesJ^-f-f 

* Johnson. § Luke viii. 52. ** Psalm IxHi. I. 

f Ezek. xxiv. 16. |j Isa. xliii. 2. f\ Rev. vii. 17. 

+ Heb. ii. 17, 18. % John xi. 25. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 19 

You are ready, perhaps, to say, " O that I knew 
where I might find him;^^ — but religion has been with 
me rather a case of necessity than the high privilege 
of communing with such a comforter. I feel the misery 
of living at such a distance from my heavenly Friend, 
(especially at this time) but want liberty to approach 
nearer: — Could I, indeed, repose on the bosom you just 
mentioned — ^^but, alas! my understanding is clouded, 
my faith weak, sense strong, and Satan busy in filling 
my thoughts with false notions, difiiculties, and doubts 
respecting a future state, and the efficacy of prayer.'^* 
Though I see very gracious proposals made to return- 
ing sinners, I tremble to venture: — ^Deatli itself reminds 
me of transgression: — My thoughts fly every where but 
to God. 

We readily acknowledge, that among other view* 
of death, it should be regarded as the wages of siw.f 
It is also natural for convinced sinners to tremble before 
a Judge who charges even angels with folly. — Howe- 
ver Pride may boast, or Ignorance presume, he who 
measures by the standard of a law which is so spirit- 
ual as to regard a corrupt desire, will conclude with 
the apostle, that every mouth must he stopped, and all 
the world become guilty before God,% A view of the di- 
vine character, and of his own, led not only a publican 
to smite upon his breast, as the seat of apostacy and 
pollution, and cry, " God be merciful to me a sinner ^^^ 
but so perfect and upright a man as Job to abhor him- 
self and repent in dust and ashes:\\ I may add that, as 
we become proficients in their school, we shall be more 
ready to confess than to complain^-^we, shall learn to 
justify God in any instance of his righteous displeasure; 
and humbly own, that he has laid upon us far less than 
our iniquities deserve. 1[ 

But while the Christian, as a penitent, looks upon 
him whom he has pierced and mourns; as a believer, 
he looks at him who was wounded for transgression, 



• Lady Russell's Letters. + Rom. iii. 19. f| Job xlii. 6, 

t Rom. vi. 25. § Luke xviii, 13. •[ Psalra clii. \^ 



20 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

and ho-pes — He finds it as desperate to doubt the re- 
medy, as to deny the disorder, — Having formerly rushed 
headlong with the presumptuous, he now fears perish- 
ing with i\\Q fearful M\i\. unbelieving.'-^ He sees an atone- 
ment of Grod's own providing; he pleads upon God's 
own authority the merit of that blood which cleanseth 
from all sin^-\ and by thus receiving the record which 
God gives of his Son, he sets his seal to it that God is 
true,% 

Is this, my dear friend, in any degree your case? — 
Fearful, wandering, and wounded as your heart is, does 
it yet discover a resting place? — Instead of wishing to 
evade the charge of ^^ manifold sins and wickedness com- 
mitted by thought, word, and deed, against the Divine 
Majesty: is the remembrance of them grievous, and the 
burthen of them intolerable?'' Ho you sincerely desire 
to be freed from this burden, and to enter into the glo- 
rious liberty of the children of God? that heavenly com- 
munion and rest which has been mentioned? Behold the 
lamh of God which taketh away the sin of the world/ ^ — 
Behold him exalted to be a prince and a Saviour, to give 
repentance and forgiveness of sins/\\ — Come to him 
as a sinner, and touch, with humble confidence, but 
the hem of his garment, and you shall be made whole:^ 
— Wait upon him, and you shall obtain both strength 
and liberty; for if the Son make you free, you shall be 
free indeed,*"^ 

Respecting your sense of weakness, let me add that 
provision made for fallen nature, corresponding to its 
various wants, is at once a character smd an evidence o^ 
our religion. It is a glorious peculiarity of it, that its 
promises correspond with its precepts. To use the lan- 
guage which best conveys its meaning. The kingdom 
of God is not in word only, but also in powER.ft — He 
who enlightens the blind eyes, undertakes to strengthen 
the weak hands, and to confirm the feeble knees^XX '^^^ 
Spirit of wisdom and understanding is said to be also 

* Rev. xxi. 8. § John i. 29. ** John vili. 36. 

t 1 John i. 7. II Acts v. 31. ft 1 Cor. iv. 20. 

:^ John iii. 33. ^ Matt. ix. 21. tt Isa. xxxv. 3^6. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 9A 

a spirit of mighty of grace, and of supplication.^ It is 
peculiar to our teacher that he enables as weH as in- 
structs his disciples: he first presents a prospect of the 
inheritance^ then a title to it through his deaths and to- 
gether with these^ affords strength to rise and pursue 
it. — Turn to the thirty-sixth chapter of Ezekiel, and 
you will find your case amply provided for,! but recol- 
lect that it is added, " I icill yet for this he inquired of, 
to do it for tliem.X Is any affiictedP let him pray ^^ 

But I must not pass by the temptation you mention- 
ed with respect to the elucacy of prayer: you will, per- 
haps, too readily object, "Here it is that I sink; I pray- 
ed earnestly for the life of the deceased; I thought at 
one time I saw signs of a recovery, but the event makes 
me fear that I was not heard, and that I have no 
FRIEND left now in earth or Heaven.'^ 

A little consideration will, I hope, shew you your 
mistake, and prove that a petition may be graciously 
accepted, when its particular object is not granted. Did 
not our Lord declare that his Father heard him al- 
ways? || Are we not told that when in the days of his flesh 
he had qj^ered up prayers, with strong crying and tears^ 
unto Him that was able to save him from death, he was 
HEARD in that he feared?^ But consider, I pray you, 
how he was heard: Certainly not by having the cup 
taken away, (a cup at which human nature, however per- 
fect, must recoil) but in being accepted when he prayed; 
in being supported while he drank it; and in victori- 
ously accomplishing his grand design through drink- 
ing it to the very dregs. 

To come nearer to our own condition, we find St. 
Paul going to Christ for deliverance from some se- 
vere trial which he calls a thorn in the ifesh: he tells 
us that he also was heard, and in the same Avay as his 
Master; not by being released from suffering, but by 
receiving something more honourable and advantage- 



• Compare Zech. xii. 10. with Eph. i. 19. || John xi. 42. 

t Ezek, xxxvi. 25—27. § James v. 13. H Heb. v. 7. 

^ Ezek. xxxvi. 37. 



22 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

ous; namely, that grace which not only supports a be- 
liever through his trials, but puts a healing virtue into 
them. 

Far removed from the holy resignation of our Mas- 
ter, we too much resemble, in our prayers, the impati- 
ence of our children. I remember when a sick one of 
mine has had some medicine to take, he has called 
loudly to me to come and assist him against those who 
were endeavouring to force it down: he, probably, won- 
dered at my refusing to relieve him; but the little suf- 
ferer did not consider, though often told, that he was 
not to be helped in that way; he did not recollect, that 
while I tenderly felt his cry, the very compassion I felt 
for him, and the desire I had to relieve him, kept me 
from taking away the bitter draught. 

The truth is (and it is a truth frequently told to us) 
that our heavenly Father always sends his children the 
things they ask, or better things. He answers their pe- 
titions in land or in kindness. But while we think only 
of our ease, He consults our profit: — We are urgent 
about the body. He about the soul: We call for present 
comfort, He considers our everlasting rest: and, there- 
fore, when he sends not the very things we ask, he 
hears us by sending greater than we can ask or think,^ 

Is any, therefore, ajflicted? let him jrray; not only in 
the public sanctuary, or in the retired closet, but let 
him consider that there is a new and living way con- 
secrated through the vail f of a Redeemer's human na- 
ture, from every scene of retirement or action, to a mercy 
seat; where he satisfies the longing soul, and fills the 
hungry soul with goodness; especially such as sit in dark- 
ness and the shadow of death. i — Our very misery and 
infirmity should, in defect of other preachers, point out 
the seat of our relief; and direct such frail and depraved 
creatures to the common friend of the weary and heavy- 
laden. Pouring into his bosom all our complaints, we 
at once obey his command, honour his character, and 
obtain his assistance: for we have not an high priest who 

* Eph. iii. 20. f Heb. x. 20. t Psalm cvii. 9, 10. 



I 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 25 

cannot he touched with the feelings of our infirmities, hut 
was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. 
JLet us, therefore, come holdly unto the throne of Grace, 
that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time 
of need,^ 

Is it not a time of need with you? endeavour^ at his 
command^ to approach with an holy confidence^ for the 
supply of all your need according to his riches in glory ;f 
and^ at this time particularly, for the illumination and 
comfort of his Holy Spirit. He whom you supplicate 
not only invites, but reasons with you. ^^ // ye, being 
evil, Icuow how to give good gifts unto your children, 
how much more shall your heavenly Father give the 
Holy Spirit to them that ask him.^^X 

The religion of education and custom obtains^ more 
or less, every where; but serious, vital, spiritual reli- 
gion is a case of necessity with us all. We summon our 
forces, we ransack our stores, we spend our money for 
that which is not bread, and our labour for that which 
satisfieth not;\ we look every way, and call to every 
thing, till each in return loudly replies, " It is not in 
meP II Well, indeed, will it be, if, after all our fruitless 
efforts, we are brought to feel that \\\^ provisions of 
the Gospel are the only bread for a hungry soul, the 
only bodm for a wounded heart. 

However foreign, my dear friend, these truths were 
from your consideration when we first sat down toge- 
ther, if it shall please Him, who commanded the light 
to shine out of darkness,^ to shine into your heart, and 
effectually discover the exceeding riches of his Grace 
in these provisions; then, though you sit weeping over 
your loss, we are assured from unquestionable autho- 
rity, that angels are rejoicing"^"^ for your unspeakable 
gain. We are certain also, that not only every real 
friend will cry, " Tliis day is salvation come to the 
houseW where we lately wept;'' but that, drying your 
tears, you yourself will be compelled to express your 

• Heb. iv. 15, 16. § Tsa. Iv. 1. ** Luke xv. 10. 
f Philip, iv. 19. II Job xxviii. 14. ff Luke xix. 9. 

* Luke xi. 13. ^ 2 Cor. iv. 6. 



24 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

grateful sense of the correction you now deplore, and 
sing, with a companion and fellow-proficient in the 
school of affliction,^- 

Father, 1 bless thy gentle hand; 
How kind was thy chastising rod 

That forc'd my conscience to a stand, 
And brouglit my wand'ring soul to God! 

Foolish and vain, I went astray 
Ere I had felt thy scourges, Lord; 

I left my guide — I lost my way; 
But now I love and keep tiiy word. 

And liere, suffer me to drop a word or two respect- 
ing these 

Our companions in the house of mourning. 
Society is peculiarly pleasant when we are benighted 
on a journey: and especially that of a citizen of the 
place to which we are going. It is encouraging to tra- 
vel with those;, who are convinced, that if they are 
chastened of the Lord, it is that they should not be con- 
demned with the world.-\ Blessed are the poor in spirit ^ 
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven: ^ and here they are 
educating for it. Here tliey sit at the foot of the Cross, 
and receive lessons of faith and patience, of humility 
and temperance. 

Blessed also are the pure in heart; for they here see 
God;^ who never so unveils himself as in seasons of 
distress. In sight of his character and word, they bow 
before his providence, yea, trust him in the stroke; for 
hope is made to arise here, as light in darkness. Here 
the spiritual husbandman is taught to go forth weepings 
and bearing the precious seed of faith and love, penitence 
and prayer; assured that he shall come again with joy , 
bringing his sheaves with him.\\ Here also the heavenly 
scholar acquires the tongue of the learned, that he should 
know how to speak a word in season to him that is wea- 
ry.'^ And here the true soldier of Jesus Christ is found 
fighting the good fight of faith, and laying hold of eternal 

* Psalm cxix. 67—71. t Matt. v. 3. ([ Psalm cxxvi. 6. 

1 1 Cor. xi. 32. § Matt. v. 8. ?[ Isa. 1. 4. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 25 

iife^ in the very valley and shadow of death. — He is 
here instructed to cast doivn imaginations,^ those rea- 
sonings which peculiarly infest and darken the house 
of mourning; and taking the shield of faith, and the 
swm^d of the spirit, he wrestles not only with jfesh and 
blood, but with principalities and powersX — a mighty 
though secret conflict which (jod shall one day declare 
to the world; and which^ when explained, will leave its 
most celebrated heroes silent in darkness.^ 

" Go thy wayfoHh by the footsteps of thy flocIc,'^\\ for 
in this house they all have left the prints of their feet. 
Here stood Jacob weeping over his beloved Rachel;^ 
and here Aaron deplored his sons.^^ Here we trace 
the steps of David going up to his chamber, and crying 
with a loud voice, " Would God I had died for thee, O 
Absalom, my son! my son!-\\ and those of Ezekiel, who, 
forbidden to cry, silently resigned the desire of his eyes 
to the stroke. J t But enumeration is vain: hither came 
all the sons of God, the only-begotten not excepted, 
for Jesus himself stood and icept at the grave of a 
friend. ^ 

With such company, is it not far better to go to the 
house of mourning than to the house of feastingP\\\\ — I 
knew one of these, a man who had seen affiiction by a 
rod*\\^ like yours; — a man who w alked and wept in 
solitude, but with no expectation of being overheard. 
There is something sacred in grief, and we cannot listen 
to its effusions with too much candour: great candour, 
indeed, is here required, but, if afforded, it may pro- 
cure you at least, a companion, as you pass through 
this vale of tears. 

— ''Set thee up tvay-marJcs^^^* I desire here to set them 
up, and to record the severest of my visitations in the 
house of my pilgrimage. Lord, prepare me for the next!'^ 

* 1 Tim. vi. 12. H Gen. xxxv. 20. §§ John xl. 35. 

I 2 Cor. X. 5. ** Lev. x. 3. [il| Eccl. vii. 2. 

+ Eph. vi. 12—16, 17. ft 2 Sam. xviii. 33. HH Lam. iii. 1. 

§ 1 Sam. ii. 9. ^ Ezek. xxiv. 16. *** Jer. xxxi. 21. 
jl Cant. I. 8. 



26 A FRIKNDLY VISIT 

" I perceive I could not have properly sympathized 
with a friend in a similar case before this stroke. I 
could not have understood it.'^ 

" I have, at times, so felt the importance of eternal 
things, that I thought the loss of any present comfort 
would be tolerable: — but I had no idea how much de- 
pended on being ready, when the Son of man came ia 
such a providence.'' 

" I feel I now stand in the right position to see the 
world and the word; — they both appear under aspects 
entirely new.'' 

i( When I find ' my joys packed up and gone;' my 
heart slain; the delight of my eyes taken away; — when 
I recollect who is gone before her, who is following, 
and what remains for the world to offer; my heart cries 
I loathe it, I would not live always;"^ — I thank God 
that I am also to go." 

" I perceive I did not know how much my life was 
bound up in the life of a creature: when she went, no- 
thing seemed left: one is not; and the rest seem a few 
thin and scattered remains." 

" And yet how much better for my lamb to be sud- 
denly housed, to slip unexpectedly into the fold to 
which I was conducting her, than remain exposed here? 
—perhaps become a victim?" 

"\ cried, ^O Lord, spare my child!' — he did — but 
not as I meant; he snatched it from danger, and took it 
to his own home." 

"\ have often prayed, ^Lord, soften my heart! hum- 
ble my pride! destroy my levity!' I knew enough of 
his way to fear the means; and he has, in mercy to- 
wards me, regarded my soul more than my feelings,^^ 

^' I prayed earnestly for her life: duty compelled me 
to say, ' Thy will he done,^ — but I meant nothing." 

^^O my God, how long hast thou come seeking fruit 
an this treeP-\ — how much hast thou done to cultivate 
it? — shall it still remain fruitless? shall it be cut down 
after all?" 

* Job vii. 16. f Luke xili. 7. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 27 

^^My passions forged impressions that she would 
live; but I now plainly perceive I am called to regard 
God and not impressions.^^ 

'' I have been long like one in a fever, attended at 
times with a strong delirium: I begged hard that I 
might not be bled, but he meant a cure^ and pierced 
my heart.^^ 

" O how slender, how brittle, the thread on which 
hang all my earthly joys! '^ 

'' I wish ever to be asking, ^ Am I ready, should he 
send again and take ^ ^ ^^ or * * ^, or myself'? — Setting 
my house in order^ will not make death approach soon- 
er; but, that it will render his coming much easier^ I feel 
by sad experience.'^ 

^^ When I pass by the blaze of dissipation and intem- 
perance, I feel a moment's relief. I say to my heart, 
' Be still;' — at least she is not left to follow these ignes 

fatui: how much better is even the grave for my T- ^ 

than the end of these thingsP'^-f 

^^It is vain for me to Avisli, as I have done, to leave 
the world and go to my Father, that I might inquire 
into the whole of the case; — the reasons, the steps, the 
issue, &c. In a short time I shall — but he says enough 
noWf if I have ears to hear." 

^'In the mean time, help me, O my God and Father, 
to recollect that I received this drop of earthly comfort 
from a spring which still remains! help me to feel that 
nothing essential is altered! for with thee is the fountain 
of Zife.- J— part of myself is already gone to thee, help 
what remains to follow." *^*##^##* 

If this humble attempt to improve your affliction has 
been attended with any success, you will readily admit 
a few concluding hints with respect to 

Our duty in such circumstances. And one of the 
first, and principal duties of the state, is, as hath been 
expressed, to acknowledge God in it. It was charged 
upon some, that they returned not to him that smote them^ 



* Isa. xxxviii. 1. f ^o"^- vi. 21. t Psalm xxxvi. 9. 



25 A FRIENDLY VI81 T 

wor sought the Lord* m their distress. On the contra- 
ry, the clear apprehension Joh had of a divine hand 
in his afflictions, is as instructive as his patience under 
them. While Grief rent his mantle, Faith /e// doirn and 
worshipped — ^^ The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away^ 
blessed be the name of the Lard.^^-\ Let us learn from him 
never to lose sight of the Author, by an undue regard 
to the mere circumstances of our loss. We may think 
and speak of the symptoms and stages of the late re- 
moval; — of the physicians, of the remedies, &c. in their 
supposed right or wrong application; l)ut not so as to 
forget that an unerring Providence presided over the 
whole, yea, actually conducted every part on reasons as 
righteous as inscrutable. 

Whatever may appear to us peculiar in the sick 
chamber, the whole was but God's intended method of 
removing one, w4io had lived his full (i. e. his appointed) 
time. Seeing his days are determined, the number of his 
months is with thee: thou hast appointed him his bounds 
which he cannot pass.X Instead of fixing our attention 
upon means and creatures, of which we know so very 
little, let us turn to Him who wrought by these instru- 
ments, and merely effected his own determinations by 
them. Cease from man, for wherein is he to be accounted 
ofP^ Let not the creature hide the Creator, nor present 
things remain the fatal screen of the future; but, in every 
occurrence, mark the Great Cause, of whom, and through 
ifhom, and to whom are all thi7igs:\\ who numbereth the 
very hairs of our head, and without whom even a spar- 
row falls not to the groiind.^ 

While others, therefore, are wandering without an 
object, and bereaved w^ithout a comforter, yea, are go- 
ing to their worst enemies for relief, let us endeavour to 
say with Peter, ^^ Lord, to ichom shall we go^* but to 
TREE?'' Consider the great Physician as now propos- 
ing a most serious question to your conscience, " Wilt 
thou be made wholeP^^-f-f May the language of your heart 

* Isa. ix. 13. § Isa. ii. 22. ** John vi. 6—8. 

t Job i. 21. II Rom. xi. 56, ff John v. 6. 

i Jeb xiv. o, 6. If Matt. x. 29, 30. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 29 

be that of the apostles^ ^^If by any mieans;'"'-^- then, 
though seemingly swallowed up of this grief, like Jo- 
nah, you shall find a resource in it, and finally be pre- 
served hy it.f — This dart, like that which once pierced 
an imposthume in battle, shall bring health with its 
wound; and you shall be enabled, with many that are 
gone before you, to say, " The Lm^d hath chastened me 
sore, but he hath not given me over unto death.X 

Duty also directs you to moderate your grief. 
Our heavenly Father, who knows our frame, and re- 
members that ice are hut dust,^ allows us to mourn 
when he afflicts us; he often, in his providence, calls us 
to it, and charges us to iveep with them that iveep:\\ but 
he admonishes us also of a danger on each hand. "My 
son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor 
faint when thou art rebuked of him.'^^ If we seriously 
profess Christianity, our very profession implies, (not 
only a subjection to our Lord's will, but) that we have 
special resources in our affliction; several of which have 
been already named: that, among other of our privi- 
leges, there is a peace from God tchich passeth all under- 
standing, to keep our hearts and minds^* through life 
and death; and that we have many reasons for not sar- 
rowing as others who have no hoj/e.-f-f Besides which, 
Christians have a post of honour to maintain: an high 
callingXX to demonstrate and commend: we shall (like 
the pilot in a storm) be brought to our principles; and, 
as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing, \^ should prove that 
we have them not now to learn. 

On the contrary, there is such a thing as nursing 
and cherishing our grief; employing a " busy meddling 
memory to muster up past endearments,^^ and personate 
a vast variety of tender and heart-rending circumstan- 
ces. There is a tearing open the wound afresh by ima- 
ges and remembrances, and thereby multiplying those 
pangs which constitute the very bitterness of death it- 

• Philip, iii. 11. II Rom. xii. 15. ff Thes. iv. 13. 

I Jonah ii. 7—10. ^ Heb. xii. 5. i\ Philip, iii. 14. 

% Paalm cxviii. 18. •» Philip, iv. 7. $$ 2 Cor. vi. 10. 
$ Psftlm ciii. 14. 



30 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

self. Oar melancholy exceedingly effects this voluntary 
torture: — it seeks expedients, and will listen to the most 
unjust and aggravated accusations which can approach 
a tender conscience respecting the deceased. But con- 
science should rather he concerned to repress such a 
disposition. It is a temptation. — It desperately strives 
to retain what God has determined to remove: — in some 
cases, it seeks to penetrate an ahyss he forbids even 
conjecture to explore: and, while it unfits the mourner 
for the pressing duties of his station, it leads to that 
sorrow of the world ivMch worketh deaths to his body, 
soul, and Christian character. How different and su- 
perior the sentiments of David! His servants said unto 
Mm, " What thing is this that thou hast done? thou didst 
fast and weep for the child while it was alive, but when 
the child was dead, thou didst rise and eat bread, ^^ And he 
said, " While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: 
for I said, Who can tell whether God will be gracious 
to me, that the child may live; but now he is dead, where- 
fore should I fast? — can I bring him back again? — I 

SHALL GO TO HIM, BUT HE SHALL NOT RETURN TO 

ME.f 

Present circumstances also admonish you to know 
YOUR OPPORTUNITY, and to improve this season as pe- 
culiarly favourable for spiritual advancement. There is 
a tide in the concerns of religion; the scripture calls it 
the day of visitation,^ and sends us to the stork and to 
the swalloic\ for instruction respecting it. Your heart is 
now soft, its fascinations withdrawn, and the call loud 
and affecting; endeavour, therefore, to take the benefit 
of a remedy you feel so expensive. 

If, in a sense, " Smitten friends are angels sent on 
errands full of love,^' instead of weeping over their 
tombs, let us listen to the voice which properly arises 
from them; especially if it be our privilege to bury one 
who, like Abel, being dead, yet speaketh,\\ and who 
would be ready to say to his mourners, ^^ Weep not for 

* 2 Cor. vii. 10. + Luke xix. U. () Heb. ni. 4. 

t 2 Sam. xii. 21—23. § Jer. viii. 7. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 51 

me^ hut far yourselves and for your children,^ — I have 
fought the good fight^ I have finished my course, I have 
kept the faithy-\ and received my crown. I cannot now 
come to weep with you, but you may ascend and rejoice 
with me, where there is no more deaths neither sorrow^ 
nor crying J for the farmer things are passed away.X If 
you truly love me, prepare to follow me. If you ear- 
nestly wish to see me again, seek not the living among 
the dead; but arise, and become a follower of them, who 
through faith and patience inherit the promises.^ Take 
that heavenly lamp, which shineth as a light in a dark 
place; walk humbly by it till the day daivn, and the day 
star arise in your heart. \\ Haste, my beloved, towards 
the things which eye hath not seen;^ and, ere the eternal 
day break, and the present shadows flee away, run with 
patience the race set before you, looking unto Jesus, '^^^^ — 
How will my cup overflow to meet you among those 
who daily come hither out of great tribulation: and, hav- 
ing washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb, serve 
him day and night in his templeP^W 

Embrace every method God hath recommended for 
maintaining communion with him, and obtaining relief 
from him — The various ordinances of his house, the 
encouragements of his word, the society of his chil- 
dren, and, especially, prayer. Often speak to Him who 
seeth in secret, XX ^^^ is nigh unto all that call unto him,^ 
though, with the woman of Canaan, you can only say, 
^^Lord, help me.^'\\\\ Not only an high commendation, 
but a miracle followed her request. She urged it under 
the greatest discouragements, but you have both a 
command and a promise, '^ Call upon me in the day of 
trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shall glorify me.'^^^ 

And, while you search the Scriptures and attend the 
Church, you will at once be instructed and encouraged 
by marking in both, those footsteps which we lately 
considered. They are, indeed, not so explicit in the 

* Luke xxiii. 28. \\ 2 Pet. i. 19. ^^ Matt. vi. 13. 

I 2 Tim. iv. 7. U 1 Cor. ii. 9. §§ Psalm cxlv. 18. 

+ Rev. xxi. 4. ** Heb. xii. 1, 2. 1||| Matt. xv. 23. 

^ Heb. yi. 1, 2. ff Rev. vii. 14, 15- «[*^ Ps^ilm 1. 15. 



32 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

latter, but attention to the scriptural account of the 
Christian character, will greatly assist you in distin- 
guishing real Christians from those who, equally for- 
ward and corrupt, have at all times assumed their name, 
and mixed in their society, to their grief and scandal.**^ 
— Leaving these unhappy exceptions to their proper 
Judge, follow the unerring Rule he has put into your 
hand, and those who walk by it; particularly, such as 
are your companions in affliction. You will see them 
passing before you with not only the same wounds in 
their hearts, but almost the same words on their lips. 
Study their course; mark their progress; observe how 
they held his arm, pleaded at his throne, reposed in 
his bosom, and magnified his truth, who walked with 
them in a furnace which, like that of the three children, 
burnt nothing but their bonds.f 

^^But who is sufficient for these things?" 
A fourth direction will serve for a reply. To improve 
the opportunity you discern, and to keep pace with 
those you approve, seek divine assistance; or, as 
St. Paul has expressed it, ^'Be strong in the grace that 
is in Jesus ChristJ^X If;> ^^ ^^ ^^^ hand. Religion has 
vast proposals to make; on the other, to be truly reli- 
gious is a mighty aim, and can be accomplished only 
through HIM that loved us,^ Opposing Omnipotence to 
difficulty, was their secret, who so gloriously overcame 
a world that was not worthy of them: read their his- 
tory in the eleventh chapter of the Hebrews, and see 
what an implicit reliance, called Faith, — a seeing Him, 
who is invisible, will perform. That invaluable record 
seems to say, ^^ Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, 
and thou didst deliver them: they trusted in thee, and 
were not confounded,^ ^\\ 

We are, indeed, called to aim and to act, and have 
the greatest promises annexed to the endeavour: but 
are as frequently reminded that we are not sufficient of 
ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves, but that our 

* Philip, iii. 18, 19. t 2 Tim. ii. 1. f| Psalm xxii. 4, 5. 

f Dan. iii. 2j. $ Rom. viii. 37, f 2 Cor. iii. 5> 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURT^JING S3 

sufficiency is of God.^ Christ encourages no one to ad- 
vance on the ground of his own strength, any more 
than on that of his own desert: he is as jealous of the 
power of his arm as of the merit of his blood. He ad- 
mitted infirmity and misery to be presented as a com- 
plaint, but never as an objection, I have observed it not 
uncommon, for this to be a season of peculiar tempta- 
tion; a spiritual enemy stands ready to defeat every 
spiritual opportunity: but our help is near, and our ex- 
ample, in such conflicts, excellent. — For this thing I 
besought the Lord thrice: — and he said unto me, " My 
GRACE is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made 
perfect in weakness,^' May you be enabled to add with 
the apostle, '^ Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory 
in my infirmities, that the poicer of Christ may rest on 
me/^-\ 

Again, that you may seek cheerfully this assistance, 
REGARD YOUR ENCOURAGEMENTS. To recovcr our alien- 
ated minds, and gain our confidence, God meets us in 
a way suited to our necessities, and to our fears. Re- 
sist, as the vilest temptation, any doubt of that good 
will to man, which was sung at the Redeemer's birth. 
What hath Grod not done in order to commend his 
love? By every expression of tender concern, he, in the 
person of a man of sorrows, invites the guilty, the weary, 
the trembling, and the tempted, to come unto him; as- 
suring them that he will neither break the bruised reed, 
nor quench the smoking flax. % 

If God is love,\ " Christ is God stooping to the 
senses, and speaking to the heart of man:'' ever saying, 
" Look to my cross, take my yoke, and lean upon my 
arm, and ye shall find rest." He sought the house of 
mourning to comfort the sisters of Lazarus: he met a 
widow following her only child, and, when the Lord 
saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, 
'' Weep wo^."|| May he meet you at this time, my dear 
friend, with consolations which none but himself can 

* 2 Cor. iii. 5. + Matt. xii. 20. || Luke vii. 23. 

I 2 Cor. xii. 8, 9. §1 John iv. 16. 



S4 A FRIENDLY VISIT 

afford: and then at the very grave, shall that saying be 
brought to pass, ^^ Death is swallowed up in victory,^^* 
Let those fear, who despise our heavenly Friend, our 
prospects, provisions, companions, and sense of duty: 
God with us, and all things in God, is light in dark- 
ness, life in death. The words which revived him, who 
styles himself your brother and companion in tribulation, 
and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus ChTnst,^ re- 
main to cheer a solitude darker (if possible) than his. 
^'Fear not; I am the first and the last; I am he that 
Uveth and was dead; and behold I am alive for evermore* 
Amen: and have the keys of hell and of death.^^X 

To conclude: — The late event solemnly repeats its 
author's charge ^^be ye also ready.'^^ Your friend is 
gone: your following is certain: it may be sudden; it 
may be next. But should it take place this night, and 
find you provided with nothing better for the change 
than the miserable subterfuges of the profane, or the 
scarcely less miserable supports of the formal, what an 
alarm (if you are not left to the most affecting delusion 
or stupidity) will it occasion! What an awful transi- 
tion, to pass from the Saviour to the Judge! Without 
love to him; without even an acquaintance with him; 
unwilling, unreconciled, unrenewed! And to Him who 
has often invited you, warned you, and, at times, af- 
fected your conscience Avith the truths we have been 
considering! — What a subject for eternal reflection, 
'' You would not come to him that you might have lifeP^\\ 

God forbid, however, that this should be your case! 
I only suppose it, lest it should; and it is too common 
to render the supposition improper. From such a dan- 
ger we cannot be too secure; and, therefore, having 
lately seen how soon the night cometh when no man can 
worJc,^ let us seek to-day, in the redemption which is 
in Christ Jesus, that peace and safety which you must 
be conscious can never be found out of it, and which 
it may be too late to seek to-morrow. 



* 1 Cor. XV. 54. ^ Rev. i. 17, 18. |{ John v. 40. 

t Rev. i. 9. § Matt. xxiv. 44. % John ix. 4. 



TO THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 35 

Some things belonging to our important change are 
wisely hid from us; nothing, however, is more plain 
than that it is near, and therefore demands our most 
serious attention: that it is finally decisive,^ and there- 
fore warns us to watch against those errors, which eter- 
nity cannot rectify; and, that the hour is uncertaiii, and, 
therefore, calls us to stand prepared. With our loins 
girded^ and our lights burning, may we thus wait for 
our Lord! 

Impressed with such views, I have often wished to 
take the afflicted by the hand, and lead them to a re- 
source their passions have obscured. I have wished 
them to see that the Christian hope is then most alive 
and full of immortality, when every other hope perishes. 
These wishes, and the request of a friend, (who was 
solicitous to obtain something of this kind more com- 
pendious than he had yet seen) have drawn from me 
some imperfect hints. Imperfect, however, as they are^ 
like a few words, presented by the road's side to the 
eye of a weary traveller, they may afford you some 
present direction and relief. And should lie, who is 
pleased to employ the feeblest means in his greatest 
work, conduct you by them, (though but a single step 
on your way) towards a morning without clouds — a 
house without mourning, the service of your affectionate 
friend will obtain a high reward. 

* Matt. XXV. 46. 



EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

BF THE LATE EDWARD HARWOOD, D. D. 



I would not have you to be igaorant, brethren, concerning them 
who are asleep, that you sorrow not even as others who have 
no hope. — 1 Thes. iv. 13. 

The Gospel was intended to disperse all gloom 
from the human hearty and from human life. The reli- 
gion of Jesus opens to the mourner not the blackness of 
darkness^ and the friendless shades of despair^ but the 
cheerfulness of hope^ and the joyful prospect of immor- 
tality. The Gospel of Jesus carries the believer's view 
beyond the present limited scene of things — ^draws aside 
the veil that once intervened between time and eternity, 
and gives the mourner, in this world, such a glorious, 
triumphant, boundless view of the regions of immorta- 
lity, as cannot but make him ashamed of indulging an 
immoderate sorrow for any earthly creature, how near 
and dear soever, when he shall so soon meet it in those 
blessed abodes, and part no more. The Thessalonians, 
to whom St. Paul writes, had lost some of their Chris- 
tian friends by death. The mourners, it seems, wrote 
to the Apostle, and, which is the first dictate of the 
heart upon such distressing occasions, when the mind 
is overwhelmed in grief and sorrow, desired the Apos- 
tie to suggest some arguments to consolate them in this 
afflictive dispensation. What does the blessed Apostle 
write in answer to this? — ^He delivers those words to 
them, which he repeats to us, and to all future ages, 
for their and our comfort and consolation in these 
mournful scenes; I would not have you to be ignorant^ 
brethren f concerning them that are asleejp^ that you sor- 
row not as others tvho have no hope: for, he adds, ifwe^ 
Christians, believe that Jesus died, and rose again, even 



38 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

SO tliem, also, who sleep in Jesus j will God bring with 
him. Your deceased friends, who have fallen asleep in 
Jesus, and died in the belief, and principles and hopes 
of his religion, are not lost— their sleeping dust, which 
you drench with your tears, will one day be inspired 
with new life — be collected to form a spiritual body — 
and be presented along with you, in the presence of 
God, with exceeding great and mutual joy to each other. 
Christians, Avho live and die in the full assurance of 
the evangelical doctrine of a glorious resurrection to 
eterual life, are not to sorrow as those who have no hope 
— are not to brood over a cheerless, despairing, melan- 
choly prospect. This is both being ungrateful to God, 
and unjust to their religion. The grand doctrine of their 
religion is a glorious and happy immortality. This is 
the distinguishing glory of the Christian religion — the 
great first fundamental truth it was propagated in this 
world to teach — the grand capital principle, with which 
it was designed to inspire its professors. That Chris- 
tian, therefore, who does not suffer this great and trans- 
porting TRUTH to take the full possession of liis soul, 
and to shed all that powerful influence upon his conduct 
and heart it was intended to have, is still to learn what 
it is to be a Christian — hath not yet felt the native pow- 
er, and force, and efficacy of the Gospel's motives, and 
the GospePs first and primary design. 

The Gospel does not offer men, if they obey its rules, 
riches, and honours, and happiness, in this world. Its 
rewards are all future. Thou shalt be rewarded, says 
our Lord — how, and when, rewarded? — rewarded with 
an uniform flow of tranquillity and peace, and domestic 
ease and happiness, in this world — rewarded with every 
thing that is vulgarly pronounced the summit of human 
felicity, long life, health, and prosperity? With none 
of these things in this world, as the recompense, reader, 
of thy obedience — the Christian crown was never de- 
signed to be worn in this world — thou shalt be rewarded 
at the resurrection of the just. — Oh! what a powerful 
argument is this glorious topic which the Christian re- 
ligion reveals and enforces, to moderate the greatest 



BY THE REV. DR. HARWOOD. 39 

sorrows we can be called to suffer in this world, and 
to calm and compose into tranquillity, and placid re- 
signation to a good God, the most distressed and me- 
lancholy bosom! Our deceased children and parents, 
friends and relations, are not lost to Grod and to im- 
mortality. It was not our friend we committed to the 
grave — we only consigned some frail and perishing ap- 
pendages of his nature — our friend could not die — for 
the immaterial and immortal part was properly our 
friend — was properly what we loved and delighted in, 
and hope one day to meet and embrace in an happier 
world. We Christians close our eyes upon this world — 
but we close them in hope. Only that which is imperfect^ 
as the xlpostle speaks, is done away. The soul perishes 
not at death — doth not suffer one common extinction with 
our ashes — it will live to God, to Jesus, and to happiness. 
The farewell we bid to life is not an eternal and everlast- 
ing adieu. We part with a temporary existence only to 
resume an eternal one. In this momentary state we are 
only in the infancy of our being, our knowledge, and our 
happiness. The scheme of divine Providence towards 
us rational and immortal creatures, is a vastly glo- 
rious and immensely grand and extensive one. The 
date of this most magnificent period commences in 
this world, but it reaches through a boundless duration. 
It is but a small, a very inconsiderable point of this most 
glorious plan which we in this world behold — when 
millions and millions of centuries and ages shall have 
rolled away, we shall be better judges of the greatness 
and grandeur of this incomprehensibly glorious scheme, 
which the Divine Goodness, from eternal ages, contrived 
for the improvement and felicity of us his children. How 
indecent, then, how incongruous, how ungrateful is in- 
consolable grief and disconsolate sorrow, on a tempora- 
ry loss, which we shall shortly regain with such infinite 
advantage! — regain! oh, how improved! oh, how ineffa- 
bly blessed! — and instead of congratulating them and 
ourselves that they ai-e most mercifully dismissed from 
this ensnaring world, before they were corrupted with 
its vices — instead of joyful gratulations that they have 



40 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

exchanged death for life, mortality for immortality, time 
for eternity, trouble and distress for peace and tranquil- 
lity, disease and pain for immortal health, and ease, and 
joy; instead of pronouncing them happy, almost envy- 
ing their happiness, for having escaped the pollutions of 
this world, been strangers to its variety of misery and 
"wretchedness; and, in the youth and morning of life, 
by a soft and no very great transition, been metamor- 
phosed into angels and radiant blessed seraphs — instead 
of cheering and consoling our spirits with these de- 
lightful Christian views and prospects, to go mourning 
all our days; to refuse to be comforted because they are not; 
to carry about with us a bosom heaving with incessant 
sorrows, an heart and spirit overwhelmed in the bitter- 
ness of despairing melancholy; night and day brooding 
over a dreary, dismal prospect; our eyes raining cease- 
less streams of bitter briny tears; the sun a blank to us, 
music discord, innocent pleasure and cheerfulness mad- 
ness and distraction; not so resigned to God as we 
ought to be, and tliinking hardly of the divine dispen- 
sations to us. Not that our religion forbids a just and 
becoming expression of our sorrows. Our religion doth 
not lay an embargo on any of those tender sensibilities, 
of Aviiich our natures are formed susceptible. Neither 
our divine religion, nor the Author of it, either by pre- 
cept or example, forbid our tears to flow, or our hearts 
to feel a pang on the loss and departure of the objects 
of our fond affections. To drop a tear over the ashes of 
our departed friends, is human, it is Christian. Jesus 
wept — shed a shower of affectionate tributary tears over 
the grave of his amiable departed friend Lazarus. A 
stoical apathy and insensibility is not a doctrine of the 
Christian religion. The Gospel was not intended to ex- 
tirpate our passions, but to moderate them. It would be 
cruel to interdict the heart those soft effusions, which 
are the dictates of our nature, and which afford such 
relief and ease to a mind overwhelmed with grief. For 
deceased worth, for departed amiable virtue, it permits 
us to sorrow, provided we do not sorrow as those who 
have no hope. Inconsolable, hopeless sorrow it leaves 



BY THE REV. DR. HARWOOD. 41 

to unenliglitened heathens, who have not the principles 
and views of Christians — ^have not their delightful trans- 
porting prospects to sooth and assuage their sorrows. 
Those who had no other glimpse of futurity but what 
the light of nature gave them; those, whose prevailing 
notion it was, that death put an end to all our exist- 
ence — that life, and being, and happiness, were all ex- 
tinguished and vanished into air with our last breath — 
those, who had these cheerless uncomfortable views, as 
the heathens had, who had no hope of any thing better 
and farther than the grave, might, consistently with 
their principles, indulge the highest excesses of immo- 
derate sorrow, and with disconsolate melancholy de- 
plore the everlasting annihilation, and total, absolute, 
irrecoverable extinction of the dear objects of their pa- 
rental, fraternal, or filial tenderness — now for ever lost 
— to be seen and embraced no more — to be mingled 
with the common earth — reduced to their original prin- 
ciples — never more to be reassembled — sharing one 
common undistinguished destiny with the brute crea- 
tion. Jews and Gentiles, who, in their religions, enjoy- 
ed no clear and express discoveries of a future state, 
might, on the death of amiable and beloved objects, as 
we find from their iiistory they did, rend their clothes, 
put on sackcloth, throw ashes over their heads, tear 
their hair, beat their bosoms, refuse all proper suste- 
nance for several days and nights, pierce the air with 
their cries and lamentations, use the most violent ex- 
pressions of grief, and yiehl their hearts a prey to ob- 
stinate and sullen melancholy — they might commit these 
violences; who believed an utter annihilation at death; 
and, consequently, had every thing to fear from death: 
but such extravagances and excesses as these, are highly 
unbecoming the virtuous professors of the gospel, who 
have every thing to hope from death, and who are 
taught to believe, that death is nothing more than the 
means of introduction and admission to a new and no- 
bler life. I cannot but observe the language which the 
scripture applies to the decease of our friends. It is truly 
beautiful and consolatory. / would iwt have you to be 

6 



42 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

ignorantj brethren^ concerning them who are asleep: 
denoting, that the state of insensibility, into which they 
are fallen by death, is but a temporary repose, from 
which they will wake in the morning of the resurrec- 
tion. Their being is not annihilated — they are not lost^ 
out of the creation — there is not a total and everlasting 
extinction of their existence — their vital and intellectual 
powers are only for a few unperceived moments sus- 
pended — their sensibilities, and faculties, and capacities 
are only laid dormant for a momentary point of time 
in the grave, that they may recover and reenjoy them 
with infinite advantage and improvement in the eternal 
world of light, perfection, and happiness. Our friend 
Lazarus sleepeth, says our Lord, speaking of his de- 
cease, but I go to aivake him out of his sleep. The dis- 
ciples thought, says the evangelist, that he meant the re- 
freshing repose of sleep, and judged it a favourable 
prognostic of his recovery; Lord if he sleepeth, he will 
do well; however, Jesus spake of his death; and the 
phrase by which he expressed his death, is, upon the 
christian scheme, elegant, just, and instructive. The 
same beautiful expression of denoting death by sleep, 
the apostles used. Even so them, also, says St. Paul, 
who sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him. Awaken- 
ing and awful are the w ords of our Lord upon this sub- 
ject, and it behoves the living to pay them a devout 
and most serious attention: Verily, verily, I say unto 
you, the hour is coming, and now is, when all that are in 
their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and 
shall come forth — come forth, not to enter upon a state 
of trial and probation any more — that is irrecoverably 
past; but shall awake and come forth; those who have 
done good in this world, to everlasting life; those who 
have done evil, to everlasting destruction. O blessed 
day! when we shall meet our deceased parents, our vir- 
tuous children, and all the wise and good whom M'c 
have known and read of in books, and embrace and 
congratulate each other with tears of joy, if the blessed 

* 1 Cor. XV. 18. 



BY THE REV. DR. HARWOOD. 43 

can weep, at being ushered into a life that will never 
know pain, and sorrow, and death; and now all begin- 
ning a duration, that will be commensurate with eterni- 
ty, and last as long as God himself endures. We see^ 
therefore, in the last place, the reason why, in the grief 
for friends deceased, in which the Thessalonian chris- 
tians were involved, the apostle tells them, that he would 
not have them to be ignorant of the joyful prospects 
Christianity opened before them, in order that, by the 
power and energy of these great and glorious truths^ 
he might alleviate and assuage their sorrows, and pre- 
vent them from indulging grief and melancholy to an 
unjustifiable excess. The principles of the gospel afford 
the best antidote to grief. It gives us such elevated views 
of the glory and blessedness of the eternal world, as 
make us look down upon this fugitive introductory 
system with a great and noble indifference. It exhibits 
to our mind the glorious realities of the invisible world 
in such a strong and striking light, as infinitely dimin- 
ishes the value of all terrestrial enjoyments, and causes 
us to prize nothing in this frail and transitory life, as 
our chief good and ultimate felicity. I would not, there- 
fore, have any christian, who reads these pages, to be 
ignorant of this one great and animating truth concern- 
ing the pious dead, abundantly sufficient to dissipate, 
at least to alleviate, his sorrows: that if we believe, as 
we profess to do, that Jesus died and rose again, even 
so them, also, who sleep in Jesus, will God bring with 
him, and collect them into a happy, harmonious, and 
blessed society and assembly, to part no more, but to 
be mutually happy in each other through eternal ages. 
Hear, then, the consolatory words of Jesus, and may 
God dispose thee, reader, to receive all that comfort 
which his affectionate valediction was designed to im- 
part! Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, 
believe also in me. In my father^ s house are many man- 
sions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to 
prepare a place for you, and if I go and prepare a place 
for you, I will come again, and receive you to myself; 
that where I am, there you may be also. 



A SERMON, 

Sr THE LATE RIGHT REV, GEORGE BULL, D, />. 

Lord Bishop of St. David's, A. D, 1713. 

OX THE MIDDLE STATE OF HAPPINESS OR MISERY. 



That he might go to his own place. — Ms 



On 



The soul of every man^ presently after deaths hath 
its proper place and state allotted by God, either of 
happiness or misery, according as the man hath been 
good or bad in his past life. For the text tells us, that 
the soul of Judas, immediately after his death, had not 
only a place to be in, but also Ids own proper place; a 
place fit for so horrid a betrayer of his most gracious 
Lord and Master. And it was the wisdom of the apos- 
tolic writers to express the different place and state of 
good and bad men presently after death, by this and 
the like phrases, that they went to their ottm proper^ 
due^ or appointed places; that is, to places agreeable to 
their respective qualities, the good to a place of happi- 
ness, the wicked to a place and state of misery. If 
there were one common receptacle for all departed 
souls, good and bad (as some have imagined), Judas 
could not be said presently after death to go to his oivn 
proper place^ nor Peter to his; but the same place would 
contain them both: but Judas hath his proper place, and 
Peter his. And here what avails the difference of place, 
unless we allow also a difference of state and condition? 
If the joys of Paradise were in Hell, Hell would be 
Paradise; and the torments of Hell were in Paradise, 
Paradise would be Hell: Judas, therefore, is in misery, 
and Peter in happiness. And what happiness or mise- 
ry can be there, where there is no sense of either? If, 
presently after death, one common gulf of insensibility 
and oblivion swallowed up the souls of good and bad 



46 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

alike, the state of Judas and Peter would be the same. 
The result of all this will be manifestly this, that the 
souls of men do not only subsist and remain after the 
death of their bodies, but also live and are sensible of 
pain or pleasure in that separate state; the wicked being 
tormented at present with a piercing remorse of con- 
science — that sleeping lion being now fully awakened 
— and expecting a far more dreadful vengeance yet to 
fall on them; and on the other side, the good being re- 
freshed with the peace of a good conscience (now im- 
mutably settled), and with unspeakable comforts of 
God, and yet joyfully waiting for a greater happiness 
at the resurrection. And to prove this more fully will 
be my business at this time. Indeed there are some who 
grant that the soul of man is a distinct substance from 
his body, and doth subsist after the death thereof; but 
yet they dream, that the soul, in the state of separa- 
tion, is, as it were, in a sleep, a lethargy, a state of in- 
sensibility, having no perception at all, either of joy or 
sorrow, happiness or misery: an odd opinion, which 
seems alto£:ether inconsistent with itself. For how can 
the soul subsist, and remain a soul, without sense and 
perception? For, as Tertullian somewhere truly saith^ 
Vita animce est sensus — the life of the soul is percep- 
tion; wherefore, to say an insensible soul, seems a con- 
tradiction in terms. ^Tis true, whilst our souls are con- 
fined to these bodies, they can have no distinct percep- 
tion of things, without the help of fancy and of those 
corporeal ideas, and, as it were, images of things im- 
pressed on them, which being seated in the body, must 
necessarily die and perish with it. But yet, even now, 
we find that the soul, being first helped by imagi- 
nation, may at length arrive to a perception of some 
most certain conclusions, which are beyond the reach 
of imagination. We may understand more than we can 
imagine; that is, we may by reason certainly collect 
that there are some things really existing, of which we 
can frame no idea or phantasm in our imaginations. 
Thus I am most certain that there is a Being eternal, 
that hath no beginning of existence, though I can ne- 



SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 47 

ver be able to imagine a thing, without attributing some 
beginning of existence to it. We are sure that we our- 
selves exist, and many other beings; therefore there is 
an eternal Being, that had no beginning of existence, 
and by which all other beings that are not eternal do 
exist; and after the same manner we can demonstrate 
divers other propositions which are beyond the compre- 
hension of our imagination. We have, therefore, a fa- 
culty or power within us, superior to imagination; and 
of this we affirm, that it shall still remain, act, and ope- 
rate, even when this grosser imagination of ours ceaseth, 
and is extinguished. If it be inquired in what way the 
soul perceives, when out of the body, whether by the 
help of some new subtiller organs and instruments fitted 
to its present state, which either by its own native pow- 
er, given in its creation, it forms to itself, or by a spe- 
cial act of the divine power it is supplied with, or whe- 
ther without them; I must answer with St. Prail, in a 
like case (1 Cor. xii. 2), I cannot tell; God JcnowetJi. 
And if any man shall laugh at this ingenuous confession 
of our ignorance, his laughter will but betray his own 
ignorance and folly; for, even now, we can scarce ex- 
plain how we see or hear, how we think or understand, 
how we remember (least of all), though we have con- 
tinual experience of all these operations in ourselves. 
And must it be thought strange that we cannot tell how 
our souls shall understand and operate, when out of our 
bodies, that being a state of which we never yet had any 
experience? Indeed, whilst our souls are wrapt in this 
flesh, we can no more imagine how they shall act when 
divested of it, than a child in the womb (even though 
we should suppose it to have the actual understanding 
of an adult person) can conceive what kind of life or 
world that is, into which it is afterwards to be born: or, 
to use another similitude, we can now no more conceive 
the manner of the soul's operation, when absent from 
the body, than a man born blind, that never saw the 
light, can understand a discourse of colours, or com- 
prehend all the wonders and mysteries of the optic 
science. But the thing itself, that the soul in the state 



48 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

of separation hath a perception of things, and by that 
perception is either happy or miserable, is ascertained 
to us by divine revelation, of which Ave have all reason- 
able evidence, that it is indeed divine, and without the 
guidance of which, all our best philosophy in tliis mat- 
ter is precarious and uncertain. 

It was the assertion of the great lord Verulam, that 
all inquiries about the nature of the reasonable soul 
*^ must be bound over at last unto religion; there to be 
^^ determined and defined; for otherwise they still lie 
^^ open to many errors and illusions of sense. For^ see- 
^^ing that the substance of the soul was not deduced 
^^ and extracted in her creation from the mass of heaven 
*^and earth, but immediately inspired from God; and 
^^ seeing the laws of heaven and earth are the proper 
^^ subjects of philosophy, how can the knowledge of the 
^•' substance of the reasonable soul be derived or fetch- 
^^ ed from philosophy? But it must be drawn from the 
^^ same inspiration from whence the substance thereof 
^^ first flowed.'^ 

Let us therefore, hear what the divinely-inspired 
writers have taught us in this matter. 

St. Paul had been caught up into the third Heaven, 
and also into Paradise, which the Scriptures tell us is 
the receptacle of the spirits of good men separated from 
their bodies, and therefore was best able to give us an 
account of the state of souls dwelling there. He assures 
us that those souls live and operate, and have a percep- 
tion of excellent things. Nay, in the very same text 
where he speaks of that rapture of his, viz, 2 Cor. xii. 
2, 3, 4, he plainly enough confirms this hypothesis. 
For, first, when he there declared himself uncertain 
whether he received those admirable visions he speaks 
of in or out of the body, he manifestly supposeth it pos- 
sible for the soul, when out of the body, not only to sub- 
sist, but also to perceive and know, and even things be- 
yond the natural apprehension of mortal man. And then^ 
when he tells us that he received in Paradise visions 
and revelations, and heard there unspeakable words, not 
lawful (or rather, not possible),^?' Tnan to utter; he di- 



SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 49 

rectlj teacheth^ that Paradise is so far from being a 
place of darkness and obscurity^ silence and oblivion, 
where the good spirits^ its proper inhabitants, are all in 
a profound sleep, like bats in their winter- quarters (as 
some have vainly imagined); that, on the contrary, it is 
a most glorious place, full of light and ravishing vision, 
a place where mysteries may be heard and learnt far 
surpassing the reach of frail mortals. Lastly, the glories 
of the third Heaven, and of Paradise too, seem to be, 
by an extraordinary revelation, opened and discovered 
to St. Paul, not only for his own support under the 
heavy pressure of his afflictions, but also that he might 
be able to speak of them with greater assurance to 
others. And the order is observable. First, he had re- 
presented to him the most perfect joys of the third or 
highest Heaven, of w^hich we hope to be partakers af- 
ter the resurrection; and then, lest so long an expecta- 
tion should discourage us, he saw also the intermediate 
joys of Paradise, wherewith the souls of the faithful are 
refreshed, until tlie resurrection; and, for our comfort, 
he tells us, that even these also are inexpressible. 

The same blessed apostle, when in the flesh, tells us, 
that he desired to depaH and to he tvith Jesus Christy 
which is far better, Phil. i. 23. Where, if any maa 
shall doubt what is meant by the Greek word which 
we translate to dej^art, the phrase is clearly explained 
by the following opposition, ver. 24: Nevertheless, to 
abide in the flesh is more needful for you. Whence it 
is plain, that to depart, is to depart from the flesh, that 
is, this mortal body, — that is, to die. Now how could 
the apostle think it better for him — yea, hjfar better — 
to depart from the body, than to remain in it, if, when 
he should depart from the body, he should be deprived 
of all sense, and sink into a lethargy and utter oblivion 
of things? Is it not better to have the use of our rea- 
soning faculty, than to be deprived of it? Is it not bet- 
ter to praise God in the land of the living, than to be in 
a state wherein we can have no knowledge of God at 
all, nor be in a capacity of praising him? Besides, the 

7 



50 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

apostle (loth not desire to depart from the flesli, or to 
die, merely that he might be at rest and freed from the 
labours and persecutions attending his apostolic office; 
which is the frigid and dull gloss of some interpreters 
on the text, but chiefly in order to this end, that he 
might be with Christ Now, certainly, we are more 
with Christ whilst we abide in the flesh, than when we 
depart from it, if, when we are departed, we have no 
sense at all of Christ or of any thing else. 

Let us hear the same apostle again (2 Cor. v. 6, 7, 
8): Therefore we are always confident^ Jcnoiiing that 
whilst we are at home (or rather, conversant) in the 
body, we are absent from the Lat^d; for we walk by faith , 
not by sight: ive are confident, I say, and willing rather 
to be absent from the body, and to be present (or conver- 
sant) with the Lord. Where two thiugs are, in the first 
place, to be observed: 1. That the apostle doth here, 
undeniably, speak of that state of the faithful which 
presently commenceth after death, and not of that only 
which follows the resurrection. For he expressly speaks 
of them as in the state of separation, when they arc 
absent from the body. 2. That the apostle, speaking to 
the faithful of Corinth in general, joins them together 
with himself, speaking all along in the plural number, 
we are confident, &c.; and hereby signifies, that he 
speaks not of a privilege peculiar to himself, and some 
few other eminent saints like himself; but of the com 
mon state and condition of the faithful presently after 
death. Which two things being premised, the text al 
leged, plainly teacheth us this proposition: ^^That the 
faithful, when they are absent from their bodies (that 
is, departed this life), are present with the Lord, and 
that in a sense wherein, whilst they were present in 
their bodies, they were absent from the Lord.'^ 

And what sense, I pray, can that be, unless this, 
that, when present in their bodies, they did not so near-| 
ly enjoy Christ as now, when absent from their bodies 
they do? No sophistry can possibly reconcile this tex 
with their opinion, who affirm, that the souls of th 
faithful, during the interval between death and the re 



SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 51 

siirrection, are in a profound sleep, and void of all sense 
and perception. But let us hear the Lord Jesus himself^ 
who came down from Heaven, and therefore knew most 
certainly the whole economy of the heavenly re^^ions; 
and who, upon the account of his omniscient and omni- 
present Deity, as perfectly knew the miserable state of 
those spirits who dwell in the opposite regions of dark- 
ness. He, when he was dying, made this promise to 
the repenting thief that was crucified with him. To- 
day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Luke xxiii. 43. 
Where, as learned interpreters have observed, Christ 
promiseth more than he had been asked. The penitent 
thief's request was. Lord, remember me when thou 
comest into thy kingdom/ To which our Saviour an- 
swers, Thou askest me to remember thee hereafter, 
when I come into my kingdom; but I will not put off 
thy request so long, but on this very day I will give 
thee a part, and the first fruits of that hoped-for felici- 
ty; die securely; presently after death, divine comforts 
await thee. 

To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise, — ^Paradise! 
what place is that? Surely every man that hath heard 
of it, conceives it to be a place of pleasure. And hence 
it is proverbial among us to express every pleasant and 
delightful place, by calling it a Paradise, Into this 
place our Saviour promiseth the thief an admission on 
the very day that he died and was crucified with him. 
Now to what purpose was it told him, that he should 
on that day be an inhabitant of Paradise, unless then he 
should be capable of the joys and felicities of that de- 
lightful place? Paradise would be no Paradise to him 
that should have no sense or faculty to taste and per- 
ceive the delights and pleasures of it. But that we may 
not discourse uncertainly, let us consider that the per- 
son to whom our Saviour spoke these words was a Jew, 
and that our blessed Lord, speaking in kindness to him, 
intended to be understood by him. We are, therefore, 
to inquire, what the notion of the ancient Jews was 
concerning Paradise, and the persons inhabiting there. 
Paradise among the Jews primarily signified the Gar- 



52 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

den of Eden, that blessed garden, wherein Adam, in 
in his state of innocence, dwelt. By which, because it 
was a most pleasant and delightful place, they were 
wont symbolically to represent the place and state of 
good souls separated from their bodies, and waiting for 
the resurrection; whom they believed to be in a state of 
happiness far exceeding all tlie felicities of this life, but 
yet inferior to that consummate bliss which follows the 
resurrection. For they distinguished Paradise from the 
third Heaven, as St. Paul, also being bred up in the 
Jewish literature, seems to do in the above-cited text 
(2 Cor. xii), where he speaks of several visions and re- 
velations that he had received, one in the third Heaven, 
another in Paradise. Hence it was the solemn good wish 
of the Jews (as the learned tell us from the Talmudists) 
concerning their dead friend, Let his soul be in the gar- 
den of Eden, or. Let his soul be gathered into the gar- 
den of Eden; and in their prayers for a dying person, 
they used to say, Let him have his portion in Paradise, 
and also in the world to come. In which form. Paradise 
and the world to come are plainly distinguished. Accord- 
ing to which notion, the meaning of our Saviour in this 
promise to the penitent thief, is evidently this: that he 
should, presently after his death, enter with him into 
that state of bliss and happiness, where the souls of 
the righteous, separated from their bodies, inhabit, and 
where they wait in a joyful expectation of the resurrec- 
tion, and the consummation of their bliss in the highest 
heaven; for that our Saviour did not here promise the 
thief an immediate entrance into that Heaven, the an- 
cients gathered from hence, that he himself, as man, did 
not ascend thither till after his resurrection, as our very 
creed informs us, which is also St. Austin's argument 
in his fifty-seventh Epistle. The texts of Scripture hi- 
therto alleged, speak indeed only of the souls of good 
men: but by the rule of contraries, we may gather that 
the souls of the wicked, also, in the state of separation, 
are sensible of great anguish and torment at present, 
and being in expectation of a far greater torment yet to 
come. Let us hear our Saviour again plainly describing 



SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 53 

both states of separated souls in the parable of the Rich 
Man, and Lazarus the beggar, Luke, xvi. 22, 23,24,25: 
*>lnd it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was car- 
ried by angels into Abraham's bosom: the rich man also 
died, and was buried. And in Hell he lift up his eyes, 
being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and La- 
zarus in his bosom. And he cried and said. Father Abra- 
ham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus that he may 
dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; 
for I am tormented in this jfame. But Abraham said, 
Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy 
good things, and likeicise Lazarus evil things; hut now 
he is conforted, and thou art tormented. 

Here Lazarus is expressly said, presently after his 
death, to be in Abraham^s bosom, and comforted there; 
and the rich man, immediately after his death, to be 
tormented in (Hades) Hell. 

^Tis true this is a parable, and accordingly several 
things in it are parabolically expressed: but though 
every thing in a parable be not argumentative, yet the 
scope of it is, as all divines acknowledge. Now it 
plainly belongs to the very scope and design of this par- 
able, to show what becomes of the souls of good and 
bad men after death. And we have already heard, from 
our Saviour's own mouth, that one part of the parable 
concerning the comfortable state of good souls in Abra- 
ham's bosom, or Paradise, immediately after death, is 
true and real; and therefore so is the other concerning 
the souls of the wicked. Add hereunto, that our Saviour 
spake this parable also to the Jews; and that therefore 
the parable must be expounded agreeably to the ancient 
cabala, or tradition received among them concerning the 
state of separate souls.* Now whereas our Saviour 

* The Jews had three modes of expressing the happiness of 
good men after death — Thej go "to the Garden of Eden'* — 
"to the throne of God'* — or, as here adopted by our Saviour, 
" to the bosom of Abraham." This last signifying in general, ad- 
mitted to the fellowship of that eminent patriarch, and to a par- 
ticipation of his glory and felicity with " the spirits of the just 
made perfect." 



54 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

saith of the soul of Lazarus, that immediately after his 
death it was conveyed by angels into Abraham's bo- 
som; we find it was also the belief of the Jewish church, 
before our Saviour's time, that the souls of the faithful, 
when they die, are, by the ministry of angels, conducted 
to Paradise, where they are immediately placed in a 
blissful and happy state. For the Chaldee Paraphrast 
on Cant. iv. 12, speaking of the Garden of Eden (that 
is. Paradise), saith that thereinto no man hath power of 
entering but the just, ichose souls are carried thither by 
the hands of angels. If this had been an erroneous opin- 
ion of the Jews, doubtless our Saviour would never 
have given any the least countenance to it, much less 
would he have plainly confirmed it by teaching the same 
thing in this parable. These testimonies of Holy Writ 
— to omit divers others — clearly enough prove what we 
have alleged them for. But for our farther confirmation, 
and to leave no ground of suspicion, that we have mis- 
understood and misapplied them, let us in the next 
place consider what the approved doctors of the church, 
that were the disciples and scholars of the divinely in- 
spired apostles, and the nearer successors of these, have 
delivered concerning this matter. Now I do affirm the 
consentient and constant doctrine of the primitive church 
to be this, that the souls of the faithful, immediately af- 
ter death, enter into a place and state of bliss, far ex- 
ceeding all the felicities of this world, though short of 
that most consummate perfect beatitude of the kingdom 
of heaven, with which they are to be crowned and re- 
warded in the resurrection; and so, on the contrary, 
that the souls of all the wicked are, presently after 
death, in a state of very great misery; and yet dreading 
a far greater misery at the day of judgment. Now to 
proceed: from what hath been said, it appears that the 
doctrine of the distinction of the joys of Paradise, the 
portion of good souls in their state of separation, from 
that yet fuller and most complete beatitude of the king- 
dom of heaven after the resurrection, consisting in that 
clearest vision of God, which the Holy Scriptures call 
seeing him face to face, is far from being Popery, as 



SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 55 

some have ignoraiitly censured it; for we see it was the 
current doctrine of the first and purest ages of the 
church. I add, that^ so far from being Popery, it is the 
direct contrary; for it was the Popish convention at 
Florence that first boldly defined, against the sense of 
the primitive Christians, TTiat those souls ^ which having 
contracted the blemish of sin^ are either in their bodies 
or out of them j/urged from it, do presently go into Hea- 
ven, and there clearly behold God himself one God in 
three persons, as he is. 

And this decree they made partly to establish their 
superstition of praying to the saints deceased, whom 
they would needs make us to believe, see and know all 
our necessities and concerns, in speculo Trinitatis, in the 
glass of the Trinity, as they call it, and so to be fit objects 
of our religious invention; but chiefly to introduce their 
purgatory, and that the prayers of the ancient church 
for the dead might be thought to be founded on a sup- 
position that the souls of some faithful persons after 
death go into a place of grievous torment, out of which 
they may be delivered by the prayers of the church, al- 
ways provided there be a sum of money left by them- 
selves, or supplied by their friends for them; a gross 
imposition, that hath been, I am persuaded, the eternal 
ruin of thousands of souls, for whom our blessed Lord 
shed his most precious blood, who might have escaped 
Hell if they had not trusted to a Purgatory. The sum 
of all is this: all good men, without exception, are in the 
whole interval between their death and resurrection, 
as to their souls, in a very happy state: but after the re- 
surrection they shall be yet more happy, receiving then 
their full reward and perfect consummation of bliss, 
both in soul and body, the most perfect bliss they are 
capable of, according to the divers degrees of virtue, 
through the grace of Grod on their endeavours, attained 
by them in this life. On the other side, all the wicked, 
as soon as they die, are very miserable as to their souls; 
and shall be yet far more miserable, both in soul and 
body, after the day of judgment, proportionally to the 
measure of sins committed by them here on earth. 



^^ 



56 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

Tliis is the plain doctrine of the Holy Scriptures, 
and of the church of Christ in its first and hest ages, 
and this we may trust to. Other inquiries there are of 
more certainty than use, and we ought not to trouhle 
and perplex ourselves ahout them. 

I shall now conclude with a hrief and serious appli- 
cation. First: this discourse ia matter of abundant con- 
solation to all good men when death approacheth them. 
They are sure not only of a blessed resurrection at the 
last day, but of a reception into a very happy place and 
state in the mean time. They shall be, immediately af- 
ter death, put in the possession of Paradise, and there 
rejoice in the certain expectation of a crown of glory, 
to be bestowed on them at the day of recompense. 
Fear not, good man! when death comes; for, t}ie good 
angels are ready to receive thy soul, and convey it into 
Abraham's bosom — a place, wherever it is, of rest; and 
that not a stupid, insensible rest, but a rest attended 
with a lively perception of a far greater joy and delight 
than this Avhole world can afford; a place of the best 
society and company, where thou shalt be gathered to 
the spirits of just men, to the holy patriarchs, prophets, 
apostles, martyrs, and confessors, and familiarly con- 
verse with those saints and excellent persons whom 
thou hast heard of, and admired, and whose examples 
thou hast endeavoured to imitate; a place that is the 
rendezvous of the holy angels of God, and which the 
Son of God himself visits and illustrates with the rays 
of his glory; a place where there shall be no wicked 
men to corrupt or offend thee, no devil to tempt thee, no 
sinful flesh to betray thee; a place full of security, 
w here thou shalt be out of all possible danger of 1)eing 
undone and miserable forever; a place from which all 
sorrow (because all sin) is banished; where there is no- 
thing but joy, and yet more joy still expected: this is 
the place that death calls thee to. Why, therefore, 
shouldst thou be afraid of dying? yea, rather, why 
shouldst thou not, when death calls thee to it, willingly 
and cheerfully die, desiring to depart ^ and to be with 
Christ p which is far betterP If thou wert to fall into a 



SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 57 

lethargic state when thou diest^ and have no perception 
of comfort till the last day, if darkness were then to 
overshadow thee till the light of Christ's glorious ap- 
pearance at the resurrection came upon thee, this might 
reasonably make thee unwilling to die, and desirous to 
continue longer here, where there is some comfort, some 
enjoyment of Christ, thougli imperfect. If such a pur- 
gatory as the supposition of the Roman church hath 
painted out to the vulgar, were to receive thee, well 
mightest thou be not only unwilling, but also horribly 
afraid, to die. 

But, God be thanked, Christ and his apostles, and 
the disciples of the apostles, have taught us much better 
things: wherefore let us comfort one another with theste 
words. 1 Thess. iv. 18. 

Secondly: This discourse deserves seriously to be 
considemd by all wicked men. If they die such, (and 
who knows how soon he may die?) they are immediate- 
ly consigned to a place and state of irreversible misery; 
they have trod in the steps of Judas in this life, and 
shall presently after death go to the same dismal place 
"where Judas is; a place where there is no company but 
the devil and his angels, and those lost souls that have 
been seduced by them; a place of horrid darkness, 
where there shines not the least glimmering of light or 
comfort; a place of wretched spirits that are continually 
vexed at the sad remembrance of their former sins and 
follies, and feel the wrath of God for them, and trem- 
ble at the apprehension of a greater wrath yet to come; 
who presently taste the cup of divine vengeance, and 
are heart sick to think of the time when they must drink 
up the pale dregs of it. This, O sinner! is the miserable 
place and state whereinto thou shalt immediately enter 
when thou diest, if thou diest as thou now art. Do not 
deceive thyself with the thoughts of a reprieve till the 
day of judgment, or think thou shalt be in an insensi- 
ble state till then, and not tormented before that time; 
for immediately after death thy state of misery shall 
commence, Do not entertain thyself with the desperate 

8 



58 SERMON BY BISHOP BULL. 

hopes of a purgatory, or the advantage of a Droken 
plank to save thee after the shipwreck of death. In the 
same miserable state thou diest, thou shalt continue to 
the day of judgment, and then thy misery shall be con- 
summated. Consider this^ ye that forget God^ lest he tear 
you in pieces ^ and there be none to deliver. Psalm 1. 22. 
To sum up all, let us pray and labour that we may ne- 
ver, never be gathered, or come into the place ofJudaS) 
the place and state of reprobate and for ever lost spirits: 
from this, good Lord deliver us! that when we die we 
may go to the Region of the Godly, to Paradise, to 
Abraham's bosom, and at the Resurrection may sit 
down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the king- 
dom of Heaven. 

And in order thereunto, let us here thoroughly purge 
ourselves from allfilthiness both of flesh and spirit, per- 
fecting holiness in the fear of God, 2 Cor. vii. 1. For 
there is no purgation to be expected in the other life; 
yea, let us endeavour to excel in virtue here, that so 
we may have a more abundant entrance both into the 
joys of Paradise, and also into the fuller glories of the 
everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
Christ. 



EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE, 

BF GEORGE HOBKE, B. D. 

Late Bishop of Norwich, and President of Magdalen College, Oxford. 

RACHEL COMFORTED. 

Thus saith the Lord, A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, 
and bitter weeping: Rachel, weeping for her children, refused 
to be comforted for her children, because they were not. Thus 
saith the Lord, Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes 
from tears; for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord, and 
they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there 
is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall 
come again to their own border. — Jen xxxi. 15, 16, 17. 

These words^ suggest to us some useful reflections^ 
suitable to the festival^ on the case of the slaughtered 
infants^ and that of the lamenting mothers. With re- 
gard to the infants, we may observe the choice^ made 
by the church, of proper persons to attend the blessed 
Jesus, upon the commemoration of his birth. These 
are, St. Stephen, St. John, and the Innocents. He was 
born to suffer; and, therefore, the festival of his nativity 
is immediately followed by the festivals of those who 
suffered for him. St. Stephen was a martyr, and the 
first martyr, both in will and deed: St. John, the be- 
loved disciple, was such in will, but not in deed, being 
miraculously preserved from the death intended for him 
by Domitian. The Innocents were martyrs in deed, but 
not ill will, by reason of their tender age. 

Of these last, however, it pleased the Prince of mar- 
tyrs to have his train composed, when he made his en- 
try into the world; as, at this season, a train of infants, 
suited to an infant Saviour; a train of innocents, meet 
to follow the spotless Lamb, who came to convince the 
world of sin, and to redeem it in righteousness. They 
were the first-fruits offered to the Son of God, after 
his incarnation, and their blood the first that flowed on 



60 DISCOURSE BY BISHOP HORNE. 

bis account. They appeared as so many champions in 
the field, clad in the King's coat of armour, to inter- 
cept the blows directed against him. 

The Christian poet, Prudentius, in one of his hymns, 
has an elegant and beautiful address to these young 
sufferers for their Redeemer: 

Salvete, flores martyrum, 
Quos, lucis ipso in limine, 
Christi insecutor sustulit, 
Ceu turbo nascentes rosa*. 

Vos, prima Christi victima, 
Grex immolaturum tener, 
Aram ante ipsam, simplices, 
Palma et coronis luditis. 

^^ Hail ! ye first flowers of the evangelical spring, cut 
off by the sword of persecution, ere yet you had un- 
folded your leaves to the morning, as the early rose 
droops before the withering blast. Driven, like a flock 
of lambs to the slaughter, you have the honour to com- 
pose the first sacrifice offered at the altar of Christ; be- 
fore which methinks I see your innocent simplicity 
sporting with the palms and the crowns held out to you 
from above. ^^ 

So remarkable an event necessarily attracts our at- 
tention to that age, which is proposed by our Lord, as, 
in many respects, a model for us all to copy, in forming 
our tempers and dispositions: " They brought young 
children to Christ, that he should touch them; and his 
disciples rebuked those that brought them. But Jesus 
was much displeased, and said. Suffer little children 
to come to me, and forbid them not, for of such is 
the kingdom of God.^^ And again, when the disciples 
^^ asked him, who should be the greatest in the king- 
dom of heaven, he took a little child, and set him in 
the midst, and said. Except ye be converted and be- 
come as little children, ye shall not enter into the king- 
dom of Grod.^' To be fit for the inheritance of the saints 
in light, we must put off tlie passions which are too apt 
to infest us as men — ambition, pride, revenge, covet- 
ousness, and concupiscence of every sort; and put on 



DISCOURSE BY BISHOP HORNE. 61 

their opposites — humility, meekness, modesty, charity, 
purity, simplicity: we must become such in heart and 
mind, by the discipline of religion, as little children 
are, by their age; possessed of the same unlimited con- 
fidence in the care of a Father, who, as we are assured, 
careth for us; looking up to him for all we want, and 
flying to him for protection from all we fear; never en- 
tertaining a suspicion of our being forsaken or neglect- 
ed by him, nor the least inclination to resist his will; 
equally insensible to the promises and threatenings of 
the world; resigned to suffer and not afraid to die, when 
we are called so to do; able to smile at the drawn dag- 
ger, and ready to embrace the arm that aims it at our 
heart. 

This idea of a child of God was daily realized, to 
the admiration of the whole Pagan Avorld, in the first 
ages of the Church. The same inexhaustible and all- 
powerful grace will realize it in these latter days, when 
religion shall be considered by us as an art rather than 
as a science; when non magna loquimur sed vivimuSf 
shall be the device adopted by the Christian philoso- 
pher; and the precepts of tlie Gospel shall be practised 
with as much diligence as that with which its evidences 
are studied. 

And, lo! for our encouragement, in the portion of 
scripture this day appointed for the epistle, the veil is 
rent which separates the two worlds; the prospect is 
opened into another system; the " holiest of alP^ is dis- 
closed; the celestial mount is discovered; and on its 
summit " we see a lamb stand, with an hundred and 
forty-four thousand'' of the like sweet and innocent 
disposition, " having his father's name written on their 
foreheads. These are they which follow the lamb, whi- 
thersoever he goeth. These were redeemed from among 
men, being the first-fruits unto God and the Lamb; and 
in their mouth was found no guile, for they were with- 
out fault before the throne of God.*' From their station 
they beckon us after them, showing us, for our instruc- 
tion and direction in the way, that ^^of such is the king- 
dom of heaven/^ 



iiZ DISCOURSE BY BISHOP HOUNE. 

And now we are ready, perhaps, to say with St. Pe- 
ter, on an occasion somewhat similar, It is good for us 
to be here! Let us make our abode on the mount! But 
the time is not yet. We must return, and conclude, as 
we began, with the lamenting mothers , whom we left 
behind us in the valley of tears. Their cries, like those 
of Rachel, portending the birth of a Benonij a scm of 
sorrow, teach us, his disciples, to expect sorrow for our 
portion in this life, and to look forward to another, for 
comfort and joy. In the world, as in Rama, ^^a voice 
is heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourn- 
ing.^' Earthly possessions, and satisfactions of every 
sort, are, by their nature, transient. They may leave 
us; we must leave them. To him who views them, in 
their most settled state, with the eye of wisdom, they 
appear, as the air in the calmest day does to the philo- 
sopher through his telescope, ever undulating and fluc- 
tuating. If we place our happiness in them, we build 
upon the wave. It rolls from under us, and we sink 
into the depths of grief and despondency. 

Children, relations, friends, honours, houses, lands, 
revenues, and endowments, the goods of nature and of 
fortune, nay even of grace itself, are only lent. It is our 
misfortune to fancy they are given. We start, therefore, 
and are angry, when the loan is called in. We think 
ourselves masters, when we are but steicards; and for- 
get, that to each of us will it one day be said, ^^Give 
an account of thy stewardship, for thou must be no 
longer steward.'^ 

Youth dreams of joys unremitted, and pleasures un- 
interrupted; and sees not, in the charming perspective, 
the cross accidents that lie in wait, to prevent their be- 
ing so. But should no such accidents for a while inter- 
vene, to disturb the pleasing vision, age will certainly 
awake, and find it at an end. The scythe of time will 
be as effectual, though not so expeditious, as the sword 
of the persecutor; and without a Herod, Rachel, if she 
live long, will be heard lamenting; she will experience 
sorrows, in which the world can administer no ade- 
quate comfort. She must, therefore, look beyond it. 



DISCOURSE BY BISHOP IIORKE. 63 

The patriarchs and people of God^ in old time^ were 
often delivered from adversity. They often enjoyed 
prosperity: but after all the wonders wrought for them, 
and all the blessings conferred upon them, the issue of 
things was still the same. These friends and favourites 
of Heaven still saw their relations, frequently their chil- 
dren, falling around them, and at length dropped, them- 
selves, into the grave, to be mourned over by those that 
survived them. This was the case even in the land of 
Promise itself. Deplorable indeed, therefore, and des- 
perate, like the worst of the brethren, would have been 
their condition, had they not been taught, through tem- 
poral deliverances and temporal prosperity, in a tempo- 
ral land of Promise, to contemplate another deliverance 
from the power of the destroyer, another prosperity 
that should have no end, in another land of Promise^ 
which should never be taken from them, and from 
which they should never be taken; where they, their 
parents, and their children, should meet again, to part 
no more. What else is ^^the hope of Israel,'^ what 
else can it be, but a ^^resurrection from the dead?'^* 

Nothing can be plainer than the words of the apos- 
tle on this subject. Having enumerated the ancient wor- 
thies, from Abel to David, and the succeeding Proph- 
ets, he thus concludes: " These all, having obtained a 
good report through faith, received not the promise:'^! 
THE promise, emphatically, the grand promise, in faith 
of which they died, and of which all other promises 
were only shadows, and known by them to be such; 
*^ God having'^ all along foreseen and " provided some 
better thing for us;'' better than any of those figurative 
promises which they did receive; to wit, an eternal re- 
demption and an eternal inheritance; that, in such eter- 
nal redemption and inheritance, ^^they, without us, 
should not be made perfect,"J as God intends that we, 
together with them, at the general resurrection, shall be 
made perfect in Heaven. 

* Acts, xxiv. 15; xxvi. 6; xxvii. 20. 
f T«v iir^X-iixm. \ Heb. xi. 40. 



64 DISCOURSE BY BISHOP HORNE. 

If, then, the mothers in Judah and Benjamin had 
been properly instructed in the faith of the ancient 
church, when Jeremiah addressed to them the words 
we have been considering, though they must understand 
them immediately as a promise that their children 
should be delivered from Babylon, and brought back 
again to their own land, yet tlieir thoughts would na- 
turally be carried on, for further comfort, to that other 
deliverance and restoration from death, promised by all 
the holy Prophets, since the world began; even as we 
may presume the thoughts of a Christian parent would 
now be, whose son was a slave in Barbary, should a 
Prophet be sent to him with the following message from 
God: ^^ Your son is gone into captivity, but he shall cer- 
tainly be redeemed from it/' 

This, however, is indisputable; that in the application 
which St. Matthew has taught us to make of the pas- 
sage, it can admit of no other construction; because 
there can be no deliverance from bodily death, but by 
a bodily resui'rection. 

Learn we, tlierefore — and a more important and use- 
ful lesson cannot be learned — whenever death deprives 
us of tliose who are near and dear to us, to comfort 
ourselves and one another with these words; and let 
each of us, as occasion for consolation shall offer itself, 
listen to Jeremiah's prophecy, as if it were spoken to 
himself; ^^Thus saith the Lord; Refrain thy voice from 
weeping, and thine eyes from tears; for thy work shall 
be rewarded, saith the Lord, and they shall come again 
from the land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine 
end, saith the Lord, that thy children," thy relations, 
or thy friends, ^^ shall come again to their own border;'' 
that from the dark and desolate regions of the grave, 
they shall come to the light and glory of the heavenly 
Jerusalem, where, as holy John tells us, " there shall 
be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying;"* where 
Ilachel shall finally cease her lamentations, lay aside 
her mourning veil, and wipe away all tears for ever 
from her eyes, 

* Rev. xxi. 4. 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON, 

BF GEORGE HILL, B, I). F. R. S. EDIJS*BURGH, 

Principal of St. Mary's College, in the University ef St. Andrew, one of 
the Ministers of that City, and onfc of his Majesty's Chaplains in Ordi- 
nary for Scotland. 

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. — Rev, vii. 17. 

If the incidental hints which are given in Scripture 
encourage us to entertain a hope, of which it is not easy 
to divest ourselves, that the glorified saints shall re- 
cognize, hereafter, those with Avhom they had travelled 
through the pilgrimage of life; if we think ourselves 
w^arranted to give the most delightful interpretation to 
the words in my text, by supposing that those private 
affections which had been formed and nourished by the 
habits of human life, and which, after having consti- 
tuted one of the chief joys of a present state, had been 
interrupted by tlie rude hand of death, are to revive in 
the presence of the God of Love, purified from every 
thing corporeal, without alloy and without fear; it may 
seem to follow, that in the happiness of Heaven, as in 
all earthly good, there is a mixture of pleasure and 
pain; for while all the friends who had edified and com- 
forted each other, meet to part no more, while the flow- 
er which we had watered, and which had blossomed 
under our hand, lifts its head in a kindlier climate, and 
we are delighted with its fragrance, some of those whom 
we once loved and cherished are cast forth and wi- 
thered. But think not that this separation, the most 
melancholy thought which at present obtrudes itself 
upon a benevolent mind, will spread any cloud over 
the mansions of everlasting day; the righteousness and 
wisdom of the Divine government shall then be so com- 

9 



66 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

pletely understood^ that not only every murmuring 
will cease, but not a wish will remain that it had been 
conducted in a different manner; the native deformity 
of sin shall then be so conspicuous, that those who are 
without shall no longer continue objects of affection to 
those who are within. They who are admitted to dwell 
with God, satisfied with the refined employment which 
all the powers of their nature will receive in His pre- 
sence, delighted with the society of the spirits of the 
just made perfect, and feeling no vacancy in their de- 
sires or affections, will ascribe blessing and honour to 
Him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb who 
redeemed them to God by his blood; and acknowledg- 
ing that the ways of the King of Saints are just and 
true, they will rest in the assurance of his everlasting 
love. 

That view of the happiness of Heaven which we 
have endeavoured to illustrate, naturally leads our 
thoughts to the following reflections: 

I. If all tears are to be wiped away hereafter, it fol- 
lows, that religion does not profess to wipe them away 
here. 

Man is born to trouble; the sorrows which chequer 
his lot are inseparable from the condition of his being; 
they sometimes spring from the very sources of his joy; 
they are often the medicine of his soul; for the tears 
shed by a feeble fallible creature, have a healing pow- 
er, and by the sadness of his countenance his heart is 
made better. 

Let this view of our present condition correct those 
vain expectations and those romantic notions of human 
life, which are inspired by natural vivacity, by the flat- 
tering prospects of youth, or by the uninterrupted suc- 
cess of riper years. When you rejoice, be careful to 
maintain that sobriety of mind which is the first lesson 
of wisdom, and principal ingredient of true happiness; 
and when you cannot refrain from weeping, let not the 
voice of murmuring be heard amidst your lamentations. 
When in the sweetest bud you meet with some canker, 
when some want or weariness attends the treasure 



BY THE REV. DR. HILL. 67 

which appeared to you to be complete; when^ after all 
your care in guarding every avenue, sorrow still finds 
access to your heart, be not prompt to throw the blame 
of your disappointment upon the defects of others, for 
the error lies with yourselves; disparage not the good- 
ness of Providence, for you have only mistaken the or- 
der of its appointments; consider things as they are, 
and learn from your tears that this is not the rest of 
man. 

II. If we believe that the time is coming when our 
tears shall be wiped away, let us prize the Gospel of 
Christ, which hath given us this blessed hope. 

That succession of disappointments of which mau 
has experience in all his present pursuits, endears to 
Mm those prospects of future good which it is the pri- 
vilege of his nature to entertain; and in every land, in 
every state of society, he has endeavoured to sooth his 
mind, and to rise above his sorrows, by looking beyond 
the grave to a distant unknown country. But reason, 
with all the evidence upon which she presumes that 
man is to exist after death, is unable to ascertain the 
circumstances in which he shall then be placed, or to 
give any assurance that his nature and condition are to 
undergo so complete a change, as to render him free 
from sorrow, and quiet from the fear of evil. It is reve- 
lation only which unfolds this untried state of our be- 
ing. That God, who formed the spirit of man, and 
whose dominion extends throughout the universe, he 
alone is able to wipe away all tears from the eyes of 
his creatures, by removing from them every occasion of 
anguish, by satisfying every desire which he implanted, 
and by giving them a portion in which there is no de- 
fect. This is the promise which he hath promised us in 
the Gospel, the goodness which he hath laid up for 
them that fear him; a reAvard measured, not by the im- 
perfection of our services, but by the riches of his gi^ace, 
and secured by the mediation of his Son. It is the gift 
of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Sing unto the 
Lard, ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remem- 
irance of his holiness; for his anger endiireth but a mo- 



68 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

ment; in his favour is life; weeping may endure for a 
nighty hut joy cometh in the morning. 

III. This description of the happiness of Heaven, 
like every other whicli the Scriptures contain, reminds 
us of the necessity of virtuous life. 

There are persons from whose eyes the tears shall 
never be wiped. There is a continued and wilful trans- 
gression of the divine law, which multiplies the sorrows 
of life, which poisons every enjoyment, and which, af- 
ter the days of trouble and self-reproach upon earth, 
come to an end, consigns men to that place where there 
is weeping and gnashing of teeth; where their worm 
dieth not, and their fire is not quenched. But there re- 
maineth a rest for the people of God. What are these 
which are amved in white dresses? said one of the elders: 
and whence came they? Tliese are they which came out 
of great tribulation ^ and have washed their robes and 
made them white in the blood of the Lamb; therefore 
are they before the throne of God. 

This description of the persons from w^hosc eyes 
Grod shall wipe away all tears, gives no countenance to 
an opinion Avhich has often appeared under different 
forms, that tribulation is to be courted as the certain 
road to Heaven; for, while all the children of God, whe- 
ther they court it or not, shall receive that measure of 
correction which their character appears to their Hea- 
venly Father to require; many of those to w hom waters 
of a full cup are wrung out, in their adversity sin yet 
more against the Lord. But if, by a patient continu- 
ance in well doing, by the zealous discharge of every 
duty, and by a cheerful resignation, under that portion 
of suffering which the Supreme Disposer of all events 
calls you to bear, ye are solicitous to escape the corrup- 
tion that is in the world, and to testify your gratitude 
to that Saviour whose love you remember with delight, 
and through whose merit you look for acceptance, thft 
blessed hope will grow out of your trials: you will 
feel its power reviving your souls in the midst of trou- 
ble: when you walk through the valley of the shadow 
of death, you will fear no evil: ye shall at length eoim 



BY THE REV. DR. HILL. 69 

to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon your heads^ 
ye shall obtain joy and gladness^ and sorrow and sighing 
shall flee aivay, 

A little before lie died^ Jesus said to his friends (and 
if ye do whatsoever he commands you, ye are of that 
number): In my father^ s house are many mansions; I 
go to prepare a place for you. I will come again, and 
receive you unto myself , that where I am, there ye may 
be also, Tliese things I have spoken unto you, that in 
me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have 
tribulation: but^ be of good cheer, I have overcome the 
tcorld. 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON, 

JBF HUGH BLMR, D. D. F, JR. S. EDIJVBURGH. 

ON THE HAPPINESS OF A FUTURE STATE. 

After this I beheld, and, lo! a great multitude, which no man 
could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and 
tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed 
with white robes, and palms in their liands. — Rev, vii. 9. 

What the words of the text most obviously suggest 
is^ that Heaven is to be considered as a state of blessed 
society. J. ?mdtitude^ a numerous assembly^ are here 
represented as sharing together the same felicity and 
honour. Without society^ it is impossible for man to be 
happy. Place him in a region where he was surround- 
ed with every pleasure; yet there, if he found himself a 
solitary individual, he would pine and languish. They 
are not merely our wants, and our mutual dependence, 
but our native instincts also, which impel us to associ- 
ate together. The intercourse which we here maintain 
with our fellows, is a source of our chief enjoyments. 
But, alas! how much are these allayed by a variety of 
disagreeable circumstances that enter into all our con- 
nexions. Sometimes we suffer from the distresses of 
those whom we love; and sometimes from their vices or 
frailties. Where friendship is cordial, it is exposed to 
the wounds of painful sympathy, and to the anguish of 
violent separation. Where it is so cool as not to occa- 
sion sympathetic pains, it is never productive of much 
pleasure. The ordinary commerce of the world con- 
sists in a circulation of frivolous intercourse, in which 
the heart has no concern. It is generally insipid, and 
often soured by the slightest difference in humour, or 
opposition of interest. We fly to company, in order to 
be relieved from wearisome correspondence with our- 



72 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

selves; and the vexations which we meet with in society 
drive us back again into solitude. Even among the vir- 
tuous, dissentions arise; and disagreement in opinion 
too often produces alienation of heart. We form few 
connexions where somewhat does not occur to disap- 
point our hopes. The beginnings are often pleasing. 
Wc flatter ourselves with having found those who will 
never give us any disgust. But weaknesses are too soon 
discovered. Suspicions arise, and love waxes cold. 
We are jealous of one another, and accustomed to live 
in disguise; a studied civility assumes the name without 
the pleasure of friendship; and secret animosity and en- 
vy are often concealed under the caresses of dissembled 
affection. 

Hence the pleasure of earthly society, like all our 
other pleasures, is extremely imperfect; and can give us 
a very faint conception of the joy that must arise from 
the society of perfect spirits in a happier world. Here 
it is with difficulty that we can select from the corrupt- 
ed crowd a /ew with wliom we wish to associate in 
strict union. There are assembled all the wise, the holy, 
and the just, who ever existed in the universe of God; 
without any distress to trouble their mutual bliss, or 
any source of disagreement to interrupt their perpetual 
harmony. Artifice and concealment are unknown there. 
There, no competitors struggle, no factions contend; no 
rivals supplant each other. The voice of discord never 
rises, the whisper of suspicion never circulates, among 
those innocent and benevolent spirits. Each, happy in 
himself, participates in the happiness of all the rest; and 
by reciprocal communications of love and friendship, 
at once receives from, and adds to, the sum of general 
felicity. Renew the memory of the most affectionate 
friends with whom you were blest in any period of 
ybur life, divest them of all those infirmities which ad- 
here to the human character. Recall the most pleasing 
and tender moments which you ever enjoyed in their 
society; and the remembrance of those sensations may 
assist you in conceiving that felicity which is possessed 



BY THE REV. DR. BLAIR. 7^ 

by the saints above. The happiness of brethren dwell- 
ing together in unity, is, with great justice and beauty, 
compared by the Psalmist, to such things as are most 
refreshing to the heart of man, to the fragrancy of the 
richest odours, and to the reviving influence of soft 
ethereal dews. It is like the precious ointment poured 
on the head of Aaron; and like the dew of Hermon, even 
the dew that descendeth on the mountains of Zion, 
where the Lord commandeth the blessing, even life for 
evermore. 

Besides the felicity which springs from perfect love, 
there are, too, circumstances which particularly en- 
hance the blessedness of that multitude who stand be- 
fore the throne; these are, access to the most exalted 
society, and renewal of the most tender connexions. 
The former is pointed out in the scripture by joining 
the innumerable company of angels, and the general as- 
sembly and church ^ the first-born; by sitting down with 
Mraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of hea- 
ven; a promise which opens the sublimest prospects to 
the human mind. It allows good men to entertain the 
hope, that separated from all the dregs of the human 
mass, from that mixed and polluted crowd in the midst 
of which they now dwell, they shall be permitted to 
mingle wdth prophets, patriarchs, and apostles, with 
legislators and heroes, with all those great and illustri- 
ous spirits, who have shone in former ages as the ser- 
vants of God, or the benefactors of men; whose deeds 
we are accustomed to celebrate, whose steps we now 
follow at a distance, and whose names we pronounce 
with veneration. 

United to this high assembly, the blessed at the 
same time renew those ancient connexions witli virtuous 
friends which had been dissolved by death. The pros- 
pect of this awakens in the heart the most pleasing and 
tender sentiment which perhaps can iill it, in this mortal 
state. For of all the sorrows w hich we are here doom- 
ed to endure, none is so bitter as that occasioned by the 
fatal stroke which separates us, in appearance, forever, 

10 



74 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON, &c. 

from those to whom either nature or friendship had in- 
timately joined our Jiearts. Memory, from time to time, 
renews the anguish; opens the wound which seemed 
once to have heen closed; and, by recalling joys tliat 
are past and gone, touches every spring of painful sen- 
sibility. In these agonizing moments, how relieving 
the thought, that the separation is only temporary, not 
eternal; that there is a time to come, of reunion with 
those with whom our happiest days were spent; whose 
joys and sorrows once were ours; and from whom, after 
we shall have landed on the peaceful shore where they 
dwell, no evolutions of nature shall ever be able to part 
us more! Such is the society of the blessed above. Of 
such are the multitude composed who stand before the 
throne. 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 



BF THE LJiTE REV. R. SHEPHERD, D, D. 

Archdeacon of Bedford. 
I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me,— 2 Sam, xii, 23. 

The passage wliicli is the subject of my present 
discourse, is capable of two very opposite interpreta- 
tions. It may signify, ^^My son is gone everlastingly 
to mingle with the dust, which must be my fate too;^^ 
or, ^^My son is gone to another Avorld; and there I again 
shall meet him.'^ According to the first interpretation, 
the reflection is the language of despair; admitted in the 
latter sense, of consolation. The context will, beyond 
a doubt, evince w^hich is the proper signification. And 
from thence it appears, that upon this consideration, 
" though his son should not return to him, he should 
go to his son;" he arose from the bed of affliction, he 
washed and anointed himself^ and changed his ajrparely 
and came into the house of the Lord, and icorshipped; 
then he came to his own house, and administered conso- 
lation to his afflicted family. 

The implication of the passage, therefore, is un- 
questionably consolatory; and the reflection is indeed 
matter of the greatest consolation that, in such a case of 
affliction, can be administered; it was the natural result 
too of a serious and devout mind, such as David pos- 
sessed. 

Those fond relations of parent, child, husband, bro- 
ther, friend, are the sinews of society which tie men to 
each other by a compact, not dissolving as soon as the 
mutual wants of each other cease, but continuing to 
bind them closer and closer, as time lengthens the con- 
nexion. Hence the chain that often confines us to a spot, 
where, surrounded by those tender relatives, we prefer 



76 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

the struggle with care, poverty^ and distress; rather 
than migrate to a distant soil, where perhaps those evils 
might he avoided, and every opposite good, honour, 
affluence, andv ease, might he procured and enjoyed. 
Hence, too, the aggravated pangs of death, that rend 
the heart on leaving, when we are summoned hence, 
our near and dear relatives behind us. So formed by 
our Creator for society, that social appetite so inter- 
woven with our nature, why should we suppose that 
we shall not carry about us, through every mode of 
existence, as long as we continue to exist? Without it 
we should not be human beings; and in the larger de- 
gree those relations extend, the larger share of happi- 
ness, other circumstances permitting, it is observable 
we generally possess; and on the contrary, to be unso- 
cial, is, in synonymous terms, to be unhappy.* This 
principle, therefore, so characteristic of human nature, 
so congenial to the soul of man, so conducive to his 
happiness even in this life, reason instructs us to con- 
clude will be continued to him in the next state of ex- 
istence, and probably w ith increased satisfactions, and 
in a more extensive degree. 

And having such ground to believe that the social 
appetites we enjoy here, shall be indulged us in the next 
state of our existence, we find ourselves a great way 
advanced in our farther inquiry, Avho in that future 
state will be our associates. In this investigation, if we 
attend to the feelings which nature impresses, they in- 
struct us that to render us happy in the society to which 
we may be introduced, it must consist of beings pos- 
sessing dispositions, inclinations, desires similar to our 
own. As, therefore, to the good the next state will be a 
state of happiness; the blessed inhabitants of the world 
to which they are called, we infer, shall be distinguish- 
ed for their goodness too. It would be a heavy draw- 
back from the happiness of the next world, if the pure 
of heart and votary of virture should be consigned to 

* Oil this idea is founded the punishment, lately introduced 
in this country for malefactors, of condemnation to separate 
cells. 



BY ARCHDEACON SHEPHERD. 17 

the society of spirits stained and polluted by the prac- 
tice of vice. Similitude of tempers and manners is a 
chief ingredient in the satisfactions of society, which 
we experience here: it is so essential to the happiness 
of a human being; that, shut up a strictly virtuous per- 
son in a house devoted to profligacy and riot; and, with 
the command of every thing conducive to the plenary 
enjoyment of happiness, amidst a profusion of gratifi- 
cations, he would be miserable. Accordingly, as the 
happiness of the next life is assumed to be an increase 
of happiness, whatever derogates from it in this, it is 
reasonably inferred, will find no place there. In the 
next world, therefore, reason gives us assurance of find- 
ing a society good as ourselves, like ourselves, and 
qualified to conduce with us to mutual happiness. 

Thus far reason goes in our information; let us next 
consult revelation on the point. Scripture informs us, 
that the wicked shall go to a place of everlasting punish- 
ment, jprejjared for the devil and his angels. And there 
are some passages in Scripture which impliedly afford 
us the converse instruction; that the good shall be trans- 
lated to those realms of bliss which the good angels 
inhabit. When our Lord says, in the next world, they 
shall he as the angels of God;* if in the manners, and 

* I will not, with the " cunning commentators" of Dr. Don- 
ne,! who slip over a passage because it is difficult, or maj seem 
to contradict a favourite opinion, pass this text unnoticed. In 
the resurrection (saith our Lord) thei/ neither marry, nor are 
given in marriage, but are as the angels of Go(L\ And the de- 
claration hath bj some been thought to militate against the sup- 
posed knowledge of each other in a future state; which has no 
such direct, nor, as I conceive, even implied, signification. The 
words were addressed in answer to a question of the Sadducees, 
urged with an aifected quaintness against the existence of a fu- 
ture state. And the plain and obvious signification of the passage 
is, that in the resurrection, that is, in a future state, the sensual 
pleasures will not attach to our renovated nature; that as there 
shall then be no more death, neither will marriage, instituted to 
supply the waste of mortality, be any longer necessary, and of 
course have place any longer. But to infer from thence, that all 

f See Donne^s Satires. ^ Matthew, xxiii. 30. 



78 EXTHACT FROM A SERMON 

liabitSj and customs, men sliall, in the succeeding state 
of existence, become like the angels so qualified for 
their society, fitted for it by a resemblance of them, wliy 
may they not cherish the hope that they shall be ad- 
mitted into their fellowship and communion? When a 
sinner repents, the angels are represented as being so in- 
terested for his happiness, as to rejoice in his conversion. 
And how shall we better account for that joy, than by 
supposing that they thereby gain a companion, a friend, 
one associate more? Father (saith our Lord), I will that 
they, whom thou hast given me, he ivith me where I am; 
that they may behold my glory which thou hast given me,"^' 
And where doth he reside, but in his kingdom; where 
legions of angels, as himself informs us, are at his 
command? If, therefore, he willed that his immediate 
disciples should be with him; all his faithful followers, 
we may conclude, will join the blessed assemblage 
— one fold under one Shepherd — happy in his pre- 
sence, and united in community with each other. In 
words still clearer doth the apostle to the Hebrews ex- 
press himself respecting their admission into the society 
of blessed spirits. Ye are come (says he) to an innu- 
merable company of angels, to the general assembly of 
the church of the first-born which are written in Hea- 
ven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the sjnrits of 
just men made jjerfect-f This declaration, in the society 

knowledge of each other shall be blotted out from memory, is 
neither a necessary conclusion, nor a just one. Before this can 
be made good, it must be proved that in the next state we shall 
lose all consciousness of what we were in this. And when that is 
evinced, another and more difficult question will present itself; 
which is, " What is i\\e principle that shall constitute our identi- 
ty?" If it be again replied, that all our consciousness will not 
be effaced, but only a part of it, it still remains to be resol- 
ved, where we shall draw the line between the portion of con- 
sciousness that will be retained, and that which will have no 
place in memory. We must aiFord some reason for any part that 
we may supyjose blotted out: and it would be difficult, I con- 
ceive, to assign a satisfactory one for the erasement of the know- 
ledge, the innocent, the delightful knowledge of each other. 

* John xvii. 24 f Hebrews xii. 2% 23. 



BY ARCHDEACON SHEPHERD. 79 

of angels, directly includes the spirits of just men made 
perfect: those who have perfected and finished their 
course; who have escaped all the dangers and tempta- 
tions of the present world. With the above passage, 
though others might be cited to the same purport, I 
will conclude my citations from Scripture, enforcing the 
suggestions of reason; in proof that the society, with 
which the good shall in the next world be united, will 
consist of beings of dispositions virtuous, wise, and 
happy; angels and purified spirits of the just and good. 

We have now gone a great way under the guidance 
of reason and revelation, in preparing for the question, 
w hich, on the loss of a near antl dear friend, interested 
affection with earnestness and solicitude to its own heart 
addresses: ^' Shall we hereafter ever meet, and recog- 
nise each other again?^' The hope of that is real con- 
solation; it is among the first pleasures anticipation 
supplies: let us inquire, what ground we have to enter- 
tain it. 

We have already assumed man a sociable being, 
with relations, not ceasing with the instinctive wants 
that produced them, but strengthening by continuance, 
and clinging closer and closer to the heart. When the 
child's wants of a parent's fostering hand no longer 
exist; filial and parental affection still continues, time 
not extinguishing, but increasing it. Husband and wife, 
w hen instinctive passion has subsided, feel an affection, 
more permanent than it, still tying their hearts with 
mutual fondness to each other. What shall we say of 
friendship; an affection founded not on want, or any 
sensual instinct? How does the mutual attachment of 
congenial minds increase by time and converse; each 
feeling himself only half of tlie other, and only, when 
together, perfectly and completely one! Shall we sup- 
pose these near and dear connexions, increasing iu 
strength as by time united, if this world be but the be- 
ginning of our existence, and there be another to suc- 
ceed it, can we conceive these fond attachments, scarce- 
ly formed before they are dissolved, never again to be 
united? 



80 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

This world, as the begiiiniiig of our existence, is the 
beginning of all our virtuous habits, of all our opening 
attachments: and ii^ growing and increasing as we pro- 
ceed in life, they be by death suddenly and everlasting- 
ly dissolved; they might seem to be begun, only that 
we may be left disconsolate and afflicted for the loss of 
them. But why should they be dissolved? If there be 
a world to come, where the good and virtuous, thejuat 
made perfect, shall again exist; why sliall it not be given 
them in that world to meet, and mutually recognise 
the near and dear objects of their former aftection? But 
conjecture cannot take such ground; reasons not being 
wanting to support the opinion that it will, we must 
admit the truth of it. 

We with reason believe that our capacity of know- 
ledge shall in the next world be gloriously improved: 
and what reason is there to conjecture, that we shall 
lose a single ray of any beneficial knowledge which we 
now possess? No such loss can be included in a gra- 
dation towards perfection. When, therefore, the souls 
of good men hereafter meet and are made perfect, we 
must suppose they retain all their former knowledge, 
and likewise have a large portion of additional know- 
ledge communicated to them. And that knowledge, 
with the happiness attached to it, which we leave with 
most regret, expectation flatters us we shall again enjoy, 
in the renewal of our virtuous afi'ections for kindred and 
congenial souls. It is the only kind of future know- 
ledge, and of happiness from thence resulting, of which 
we can form any possible comprehension: and, there- 
fore, indulged with the liopes of it, we trust those hopes 
will not deceive us. 

Where shall we fix the extent of consciousness? If 
it be necessary to constitute identity, why should it not 
extend to circumstances in our former existence most 
interesting and affecting? Shall consciousness just so 
far serve us, as to suggest, we once existed; and, as to 
every particular in that existence, shall memory be blot- 
ted out? What is consciousness of past existence, but 
consciousness of deeds, good or bad, in that existence 



BY ARCMDEACON SHEPHERD. 81 

committed? And bow sbaH \ve^ or ^^hy should we, se- 
parate deeds from persons, implicated and involved as 

thev are with one another? 

*/ 

Considering farther this world as a school of dis- 
cipline, and the next as a state of retribution, our station 
in that other will, we mast suppose, be respectively as- 
signed according to our particular merits in this; and 
may not unreasonably conceive, that we shall conse- 
quently retain marks of distinction, and powers of dis- 
crimination; some individual characters of our former 
existence and condition. And so appointed, a.nd so cha- 
ractered, it is not likely that we should want either 
propensities to search for, or powers to discover, our 
friends and rela^tions in a state of prior existence. All 
this is probable; and I contend no farther for tlie gene- 
ral theory, than as it contributes to place in a view con- 
ciliatory of rational assent the special point of mutual 
recognition; supported as it is by other arguments, and 
the stronger implication of revelation. 

When we reflect, how largely, according to our pre- 
sent apprehension of things, a knowledge of each other 
in that state, of whatever nature it may be, we are des- 
tined hereafter to enjoy, would contribute to our hap- 
piness in it: even that consideration, which heightens 
the beauty of the prospect, tends also to strengthen the 
expectation, that wlmt we now anticipate, will be here- 
after, in reality, indulged us. After our heart-rending 
separation, to recognise one another in a better world, 
what ecstasy of joy would it impart! How would it 
heighten the pleasure of that conversation which is in 
Heaven f to enjoy it with an old and dearly loved friend; 
with those, whom we had formed to virtue, or to whose 
forming hand, perhaps, we owed our own; with those, 
by whom supported, or whom, with mutual aid sup- 
porting, we had safely passed through the stormy paths 
of life, never again to sigh or sorrow more! And, as 
every consistent degree of happiness, consistent accord- 
ing to God's decree with the nature of man, will, we 
humblv conceive, be indulged him; this large addition 

11 



82 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

of happiness, we hope and trust, on the hest argument 
that can be produced, the infinite goodness of the Al- 
mighty, will not be withheld. 

But it may, against this supposition, be urged^ that 
if we be indulged in the knowledge of those friends that 
are happy, we must also know, by not finding others in 
those realms of happiness, thal^ they are miserable: and 
if the former knowledge would increase our happiness, 
the latter would, proportionably, derogate from it, and 
tend to make us miserable. But this does not follow; 
it is not an inference, that because we know the happi- 
ness of happy friends, we must also know the misery 
of those that fail of happiness. Those may not only 
be struck out of the book of the living, but out of the 
memory also of those who are there enrolled. Our 
knowledge, all our knowledge, we trust, in the next 
world, will be improved, all but the knowledge of sin 
and misery; and with that state, revelation instructs us, 
sorrow is incompatible,* 

In further confirmation of this pleasing doctrine, let 
us advert to the general reception it has, among all na- 
tions, obtained; an assent almost as universal as the doc- 
trine of a future state itself. The poets of Greece and 
Home inculcated it; and some of the best men, and 
greatest philosophers, of those polished nations, both 
believed and taught it. " O glorious day,^^ says one of 
the greatest of them, " when I shall leave this sink of 
profligacy and vice-f behind me, and join my beloved 
Cato in the assembly of the great and good!^' When 
the Avretched African is torn from his family and friends, 
and sold to a savage master in a distant quarter of the 
globe; we know his comfort, his consolation, his confi- 
dence is in the hopes of meeting, in unmolested realms 
of happiness, his beloved friends again. 

Tliis, in foreign lands, is his song of rapture, when 
the heart is exhilarated; this is his theme of consola- 
tion, Avhen he sits down by the waters of captivity, and 
weeps. The untutored inhabitant of remote islands in 

* Revelatien xxi. 4. f Ex hac turba et colluvione.— Cic. 



BY ARCHDEACON SHEPHERD. 83 

the South Seas, as modern traveUers inform us, when, 
with voluntary incisions slie hath sluiced her blood in 
agonies of grief for the loss of a husband, a parent, or 
a child, throws away the instrument of desperation, 
and calms her troubled mind, in the prospect of meet- 
ing again. Nay, and even when the expiring christian 
bids the friend of his bosom, the object of his affection, 
or the partner of his cares and joys, the long farewell, 
how does he feel the agonizing soul supported, which 
sometimes expires in smiles of sweet complacency, on 
the hope, the belief, the confidence of meeting again! 

If nature teach this, it is the God of nature that so 
instructs; if religion inculcate it, it is still the doctrine 
of God; it is the doctrine of Him, who is the essence 
of goodness and the fountain of truth, of Him who can- 
not deceive. 

Turning from the volume of nature to that of reve- 
lation, the same doctrine we shall find enforced. The 
general tenor of the New Testament represents the good 
and virtuous in the next world, living tvith Christy as 
composing kis kingdom^ and, as such, living of course 
in community with one another; heirs^ and joint heirs of 
the same promise. And in that mutual intercourse with 
each other, on what principle of reason shall we deny of 
each other the mutual knowledge? On Peter occasion- 
ally urging his own merit, and that of his fellow apos- 
tles, in leaving all that they had and following Christ, 
our Saviour tells them, that, "in the regeneration (the 
renovation of things), when the Son of man shall sit on 
the throne of his glory, they also shall sit upon twelve 
thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.'^ And who 
can conceive otherwise of that promise, than that it evi- 
dently implies, the twelve apostles so appointed, would 
perfectly know each other? And if these judges know 
each other, why shall we deny the same mutual recog- 
nition to those that shall be judged? There seems no- 
thing adducible in disproof of the cotemporaries of those 
tribes, on that awful occasion, summoned to the solemn 
tribunal, being known to, and knowing, each otlier. And 



84 EXTRACT FROM A 8ER.M0N 

if the tribes of Israel shall then know each other, why 
shall not all mankind? 

I have already advanced the opinion, that the stations 
of the good in the next world, will be appointed with in- 
dividual distinctions, according to their particular me- 
rits in this; in confirmation of which opinion, the propliet 
Daniel declares, t]iat they that be wise^ shall shine as the 
brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to 
righteousness^ as the stars for ever and ever»^ In simi- 
lar allusion, the apostle to the Corinthians expresses 
himself: As one star differeth from another star in glo- 
ry; so also shall it be in the resurrection. -f And thus 
individually distinguished in the next world, such dis- 
tinction being in consequence of our conduct in this, 
some marks of discrimination, that may distinguish us 
here, might, I observed, reasoning abstractedly, attach 
to us hereafter; which doctrine, we hence collect, has 
from Scripture, also the same implied support. 

When our Lord asserts, in confutation of the Sad- 
ducean doctrine, the God of Mraham^ of Isaac, and of 
Jacob, to be the God of the living, and not of the dead; 
will it be doubted, that the patriarchs, so eminently 
distinguished, as being alive, were alive to each other? 
And, if they then lived in mutual knowledge of each 
other, it is a plain and obvious inference, that so also 
shall we. 

Such was the opinion of the royal mourner, express- 
ed ill the words of the text. According to the exposi- 
tion of the passage already offered, it clearly signifies, 
that he should meet his son, recognise him, and enjoy 
his society. Else, where was the consolation implied! 
If he were never to know him after their separation in 
this world, know him as a relation, a near and dear 
connexion; that son was for ever lost to him. It is in- 
deed a degree of consolation, to know that our friends, 
when they depart this life, are happy in the next: but 
it is not a consolation equal to that of going to them, 

* Dan. xii. 3. f 1 Cor. xv. 42. 



BY ARCHDEACON SHEPHERD. $5 

meeting them, seeing tliem happy, participating wijli 
them in that happiness, and enjoying their society; and 
nothing less than this; the refiection of David seems 
evidently to imply. 

I have not yet finished my observations on this in- 
teresting subject; nor can I comprise them v. ithin t{ie 
limits of this discourse; I must, therefore, refer them, 
with their proper inferences, to a future occasion. Aul, 
in the mean time, I leave to every one, to form his o^n 
refections on the general truth of vv^hat I have endea- 
voured to illustrate and confirm. Thev will lead him 
to appreciate this world, and tlie next. And on a con- 
parative view, he will easily distinguish, which claims 
his utmost attention, and which merits his contem2)t. 
When he considers, how little difference tliere is, in 
point of happiness, between the highest situation of 
life, and the lowest; he will wonder at the pains he has 
taken, at the toils he has endured, at the cares it has 
cost him, to acquire a little and a little more of this 
workFs good, to rise in it a little and a little higher. 
He will lament, that he has not, with more earnest- 
ness, exerted himself to secure an eminent station in 
the world to come; where every degree of eminence 
wdll be a degree of happiness. And reflections, such as 
these, cannot but influence his future conduct. Under 
the impression of them, I therefore leave him; suppli- 
cating God, of his infinite goodness, to give efficiency 
to them in the attainment of everlasting happiness, 
through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, our 
blessed Lord and Saviour. 



EXTRACT FROM 
THE MEDITATIONS OF A RECLUSE. 

BY JOHJS'* BREWSTER, M. Jl. 

Vicar of Stockton upon Tees, and Greatham in the County of Durham. 

INFLUENCE OF A FUTURE STATE ON MAN AS AN 
INDIVIDUAL. 

After having ranged through a country, where we 
have studied the manners, and became acquainted with 
the improvements of its inhabitants, it is a proof of wis- 
dom to make our observations useful to ourselves. Af- 
ter having considered the moral and religious characters 
of men, as they are influenced by a belief of a future 
state, and seen the general happiness which such a be- 
lief is calculated to^ produce, let us turn our eyes inward, 
and contemplate the mdividiial felicity of so blessed an 
expectation. The man of retired and solitary habits, is 
he, from whom we look for arguments on so important 
a subject. Abstracted from the world, not by a misan- 
thropic contempt of it, nor by a disgust at any thing he 
has met with on the scene of life, but retiring from its 
tumults that he may enjoy a more intimate union with 
his Maker, he feels the impression of future enjoy- 
ments, in the same proportion that he proceeds towards 
them. 

Having considered life under every different appear- 
ance, and having acted his part in it, with all the inte- 
grity of a man and the piety of a christian, he is ready 
to be removed into those regions, where hope is swal- 
lowed up of certainty, and time gives place to eternity. 
A blessed hereafter is his firm expectation; and tliere- 
fore, he is neither afraid for " the terror by night, nor 
for the arroAV that flieth by day.^- His passions being 



83 EXTRACT FROM BREWS'lER'i 

subdued by his reason, and his reason being directed by 
religion, he enjoys all that serenity of temper, all that 
cheerfulness of benevolence, w hich principles so excel- 
lent cannot but inspire. 

As in ordinary life the vital functions are performed 
without the accurate observation of every letter, in 
speech^ or every limb, in action; so the influence of a 
future state is incorporated so intimately and impercep- 
tibly with a good man's life, that it produces, if I may 
so express myself, a spontaneous happiness. Pursue a 
character thus impressed with a solid belief of a future 
world, and the sentiments \\ bich naturally fiow from 
such an impression; follow him through the many and 
various mazes of his present existence, and you will 
find that it is not a large increase of possessions which 
hurries him into irregular joy, nor a small misfortune 
which plunges him in despair. His "hope is full of 
immortality.'^ His eye is bent upon an object Avhich 
possesses his icJiole soul; and has the same effect upon 
his breast which the sun has upon universal nature — 
it cheers, revives, inspirits, and enlivens it. The seed, 
which was originally placed in it, by the hand of the 
heavenly Husbandman, is nourished by this ray, and 
brings forth a plentiful harvest. 

Every transaction of a good man's life, whether it 
be exposed to public view, or buried iu the sweet tran- 
quillity of domestic privacy, takes its colour from this 
general impression of a state of being, different indeed 
in its nature from, but in every other respect strongly 
connected with, the present scene of existence. ^Vhen 
we coi'oider the connexion, then, betAveen this Avorld 
and the uQxt, as implied by nature, and expressed by 
revelation, shall we not produce this as an important 
argument, not of consolation, but of pleasure and posi- 
tive enjoyment, to the breast of that man Avhose mind 
is directed into so happy a channel? In material things, 
we often behold what we cannot reach: but in spiritual 
and everlasting blessings, our soul anticipates what 
our sight cannot perceive. *^In our pursuit of the things 
of this world we usually prevent enjoyment, by expec- 



MEDITATIONS OF A RECLUSE. 89 

tation; we anticipate our own happiness^ and eat out the 
heart and sweetness of worldly pleasures^ by delight- 
ful fore-thoughts of them; so that when we come to pos- 
sess them, they do not answer the expectation, nor sa- 
tisfy the desires which were raised about them, and they 
vanish into nothing; but the things which are above, are 
so great, so solid, so durable, so glorious, that we can- 
not raise our thoughts to an equal height with them; 
we cannot enlarge our desires beyond a possibility of 
satisfaction. Our hearts are greater than the world; but 
God is greater than our hearts, and the happiness which 
be hath laid up for us, is, like himself, incomprehensi- 
bly great and glorious. '^^ 

But even the good man cannot long be a partaker of 
sublunary enjoyments, without finding those enjoy- 
ments interrupted by some painful, though expected 
cause. The separation of friends by death, cannot but 
give a pang to those hearts which were once firmly 
united by affection. But the religious man, though he 
feels the stroke sharper than the shorn lamb, possesses 
a cordial of no common strength. He sees the sign of 
the Son of Man in Heaven — he hears a voice, "Behold! 
I bring you glad tidings.'' And the same principle of 
faith, by which he expects to behold his Saviour on 
the throne of his glory, and the twelve apostles, on 
seats judging the twelve tribes of Israel, leads him to 
exult in the expectation, that the bond of friendship 
and affection, which has been broken by death, will be 
reunited when he comes to the "city of the living God, 
to an innumerable company of angels, to the general 
assembly and church of the first-born, and to the spirits 
of just men made perfect.'' 

Let it not be thought that there is too much of ter- 
restrial enjoyment in this expectation. The passions 
and affections of men were not given us for a trivial 
purpose. It is well understood, that nothing earthly 
can find a place in that spiritual state of existence. 
But there is so strong an analogy between the heavenly 

* Tillotson. 

12 



60 kXTRACT FROM BREWSTER's 

dispositions which the Gospel recommends to us here^ 
and those which angels and the spirits of good men 
will exercise themselves in hereafter, that we cannot 
but imagine, that those who have excited in us such 
qualities of goodness and benevolence, will be par- 
takers with us in the full perfection of them in a better 
world. Faith and hope will be then no more, because 
the hour of certainty is come; but charity, which com- 
prehends every amiable feeling, will enter with us into 
Heaven, and, no doubt, constitute no small part of our 
happiness. "Now," says St. Paul, "we see through 
a glass, darkly, but then face to face; now I know in 
part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.'^ 
I shall go to him; but he shall not return to me — where 
I amy there shall my servant he — are the foundations of 
an argument which inspires the mourner with consola- 
tion, and affords a pious confidence which is not to be 
shaken by metaphysical reasonings. The resurrection 
of the same hody, implies an identity of persons. Such 
a consciousness of a preexistent state must bring to our 
remembrance the things done in the body; and, as this 
consciousness must extend to every person risen from 
the dead, there is more than reason to convince us, that 
virtuous friends will meet again in happiness. Our 
earthly desires, indeed, will be extinguished, we 
^^ shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more;'' our 
vile body, that is, the body of our humiliation, shall be 
changed, that it may be fashioned like unto the glorifi- 
ed body of Christ.* The instincts of life must cease 
with it; but the spiritual and better part of every virtu- 
ous connexion will continue for ever. Every relative 
affection will be renewed with ardour. The cord be- 
tween married friends will be drawn still closer; their 
affections will be purer, their delights more exquisite; 
for they will be, as the text expresses it, as the angels 
of God in Heaven, 

There is one objection, which it may be necessary 
to obviate; as it may be thought to derogate from the 

* PhiL iii. 21. 



MEDITATIONS OF A RECLUSE. 91 

individual happiness of men, when reflecting on this 
argument as a source of consolation; namely, that they 
may not meet in the next world with some friends 
which they have had in this: but they must remember^ 
that such will not have been virtuous friends, and 
therefore not entitled, according to the Gospel dispen- 
sation, to the rewards of Heaven. It will be no dimi- 
nution of our happiness, because we shall then wholly 
acquiesce in the justice of God. The veil of passion 
and prejudice will be removed from our sight; for in 
that world, where all will be harmony, no disturbed 
reflections can arise? 



FROM THEOLOGIA REFORMATA, 

OR, 

THE BODY AND SUBSTANCE OF THE CHRIS- 
TIAN RELIGION. 

BY JOHJSr EDWJRDS, D. D, 

Twelfth article of the creed, section entitled Heaven. 

It is observable that all the ancients have agreed in 
this, that there is such a certain place^ where good men 
shall be recompensed after this life, and enjoy an unin- 
terrupted happiness. Not only Jews and Christians^ 
but even Pagans and Infidels, have acknowledged this. 
Horner^ and Virgil\ describe the Elysian Fields, which 
are for the entertainment of the good and virtuous. Plu- 
tarch^i out of Pindar, gives a short description of that 
place and its diversions. And not only the Gentile poets, 
but the gravest philosophers, speak of this. Jbiaocago- 
ras^ used to point up to Heaven, and say, That w as 
his country. Plato tells us that the soul, which is an in- 
visible substance, goes to some other place agreeable to 
it, pure, invisible, — that place where they shall most 
certainly be with the good and virtuous God. 

In another place he saith, The good and virtuous 
shall, after death, go to the islands of the blessed, and en- 
joy all happiness, and be free from evil. And these islands 
are above, as appears from his description of the place of 
the blessed, which he gives at another time, telling us 
that departed souls are seated in the ethereal regions. 
For though the Stoics placed the separate souls of the 
virtuous under the moon, or near it, yet the Platonists 
advanced them to the stars. They were of opinion that 
blessed spirits were seated high, and out of the reach 

* Odj'ss. 1. 4. ^ Consolat. ad Apollon. 

j- ^n. 1. 6. § l.»aert. in Vita Anaxag". 



94 EXTRACT FROM 

of the terrestrial vapours; which a late writer* will not 
admit of, but places them in the furthest region that en- 
compasses the earth, which is about forty or fifty miles 
off. Tully had no such grovelling thoughts, but tells us 
in his Tiisc. Qucest lib. i. that in the empyrean orb the 
soul fixes herself in her ascent after death. Here she 
wants nothings hut is sustained with the food that the 
stars is nourished with. From this place she surveys the 
whole earth, and all that is contained in it, at one view. 
The Americans^ soar not so high, but yet they point to 
certain hills and mountains, where they brag, they shall 
be happy after they leave this world. And the follow- 
ers of Mahomet believe a local heaven. 

Yea, this hath been the general persuasion of all 
those that have believed there is a heaven; excepting a 
few enthusiasts, wlio maintain that Heaven is every 
where; that is, wheresoever a man is; for it is only in 
the conscience. Thus one of them is bold to aver, that 
none have a glory and a heaven hut within them.X And 
another^ would persuade us, that a local heaven looks 
too carnal, and like Mahometism, But the folly, as well 
as the falsehood of this, appears from what I have al- 
ledged out of the Scriptures, which positively and 
plainly assert Heaven to be a plaee. 

Secondly, I consider it as a state, a state or condition 
of happiness: and under this notion it hath these follow- 
ing names in Scripture, which set forth the excellency 
of it. It is expressed by feasting, Luke, xiv. 15. Rev. 
xix. 7, 9. It is called a kingdom. Matt. vii. 21. Acts, 
xiv. 22. 1 Thess. ii. 12. 2 Tim. iv. 1; and the kingdom 
of the Lord, 2 Pet. i. 11. It hath the denomination of 
glory, John, xvii. 24. Rom. v. 2. Col. iii. 4. 1 Thess. ii. 
12; eternal glory, 1 Pet. v. 10; an eternal weight of 
glory, 2 Cor. iv. 17. It is called life, 2 Tim. i. 10; and 
eternal life. Tit. i. 2; and the tree of life, Rev. ii. 7; 
and the water of life. Rev. xxii. 1. It is set forth by an 
incorruptible crown, 1 Cor. ix. 25; the crown of life^ 
Jam. i. 12; a crown of glory ^ 1 Pet. v. 4; a crown of 

* Whiston. t The Indians or Aboriginal Americans. 

t W. Pcnn's Rejoinder. § G. Fox's Great Mystery, 



THE REV. DR. EDWARDS. 95 

righteousness^ 2 Tim. iv. 8. This blessedness of tlie 
saints is expressed by white robes, Rev. iii. 18; iv. 4; 
vi. 11; xix. 8. It is styled an inheritance, Eph. i. 18. 
1. Pet. i. 4; a rest or keeping of a Sabbath, Heb. iv. 9. 
All which expressions (many of which are taken from 
earthly things, and things of this world) furnish us 
with a general notion of the nature of the heavenly 
state; that is, they acquaint us that it is of unspeakable 
worth and value, that it is desirable above all things, 
and that it is attended with infinite complacency and 
satisfaction. 

But I am to pass to a more particular survey of this 
celestial state, and to show that it is. First, a state of 
perfect knowledge: Secondly, oi perfect purity and sanc- 
tity; Thirdly, oi perfect delight and pleasure; Fourthly, 
of perfection of body, as well as of soul. 

First, Heaven is a state of perfect knowledge. The 
glory of the life to come consists in the vision of God, 
when, as we are told by the beloved disciple, the great 
favourite of his Lord, and who, therefore, had the high- 
est discoveries of these things, we shall see him as he is 
(1 John, iii. 2), in the just proportions and representa- 
tions of the Divine Majesty, so far as our finite nature 
is capable of. JVow we know in part, saith another 
apostle, but when that way of knowledge which is per- 
fect, is come, then that which is imperfect shall be done 
away. JSTow we see through a glass darkly, but then 
face to face, most intimately and entirely, and we shall 
know even as we are known; that is, as men know one 
another distinctly, by coming up close, and having a 
near view of one another. We shall then be fully ac- 
quainted with all those great secrets and profound mys- 
teries, which here were the matter of our admiration and 
astonishment. The soul is now as it were buried and 
entombed in the body, but at death she shall rise and 
€ome to herself, and all her faculties shall be wonder- 
fully awakened and enlivened, and the intellect in a more 
especial manner, as being guide to the rest. The soul 
here is like a light shut up in a lantern, wherewith we 
make a shift to direct our steps in the dark night of this 



«)6 EXTRACT FROM 

world. But afterwards the dark case is laid aside, and 
the soul being no longer confined and shut up, its dim- 
ness vanishes, and it shines forth with an unwonted 
brightness and lustre. When these clay walls that hinder 
our prospect, shall be demolished, our horizon shall be 
enlarged, and then we shall take a full survey of those 
divine objects which here we had but a faint and glim- 
mering perception of. How poor and mean are our best 
and most improved notions in this life? Under how many 
prejudices and unavoidable ignorances do we labour? 
But presently upon our leaving this world, our twilight 
shall be turned into mid-day, the errors in our judg- 
ments shall vanish, there shall be no doubts and scru- 
ples remaining to perplex our minds, but an infant of a 
day's growth shall attain to a further and more com- 
prehensive knowledge, than any of the long-lived pa- 
triarchs arrived to here; yea, than Adam himself, when 
he was in his primitive state and innocence. 

And now I am speaking of the knowledge which We 
shall have in heaven, it may be seasonable to inquire 
whether the saints shall know one another there; that is, 
whether godly converts and their cliildren, husbands 
and their wives, masters and servants, friends and rela- 
tives; and likewise, whether pastor and people shall re- 
member, and take notice of their former relations to 
one another, and in that state of happiness continue the 
knowledge they had of one another. First, I answer 
negatively, they shall not, and indeed they cannot, know 
one another as to their bodily and outward shape; for it 
is highly probable, that this shall be so changed from 
what it was, that there will be no knowing one another 
on that account. Though glorified bodies be the same 
as to substance with what they were once, yet the quali- 
ty of them is so altered, that it will be impossible, at 
least very difficult, to say that this was the body of such 
or such a distinct person. Again: Friends, and kindred, 
and relations, shall not so know one another in heaven, 
that the tie of affinity or consanguinity shall remain 
there; nor the tie of superiority and subjection, as be- 
tween king and people^ father and son, husband and 



THE REV. DR. EDWARDS. 97 

wife^ be continued. Mucb less shall there be any car- 
nal affections remaining in that blessed state; for it is 
not a sensual but a spiritual knowledge and communi- 
cation that is among the blessed in heaven.' That 
grosser knowledge and love which related only to the 
corporeal part, shall be swallowed up in a divine com- 
munion with one another. 

But, secondly, and positively, it is reasonable to be- 
lieve, that the saints shall know that they had such and 
such a relation to one another when they were on earth. 
The father shall know that such a one was his child; 
the husband shall remember that such a one was his 
wife; the spiritual guide shall know that such belonged 
to his flock; and so all other relations of persons shall 
be renewed and known in heaven. The ground of which 
assertion is this, that the soul of man is of that nature 
that it depends not on the body and sense, and, there- 
fore, being separated, knows all that she knew in the 
body. And for the same reason it is not to be doubted 
that she arrives in the other world with the same de- 
signs and inclinations she had here. So that the delights 
of conversation are continued still in heaven. Friends 
and relations are familiar and free with one another, 
and call to mind their former circumstances and con- 
cerns in the world, so far as they may be serviceable to 
advance their happiness. The truth of what I say con- 
cerning this knowledge, and remembrance of things in 
the state of glory, may receive some confirmation from 
that history in Matt. xvii. 3, &c. where we read, that 
in that glorious interview, which was a glimpse of 
heaven, the apostles knew Moses and Elias, and these 
knew them, though none of them had seen one another. 
Much more then shall those spirits, who were intimate- 
ly acquainted with one another on earth, retain their 
acquaintance and converse in heaven, and call to mind 
the passages of their lives. 

But there is an irrefragable proof of this in Luke, 
xvi. 25. Abraham said. Son, remember that thou in 
thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise 

13 



H EXTRACT FROM 

Lazarus evil things. And it is as true, that Lazarus 
remembered him at the same time. Whence \ gather^ 
that the knowledge and memory of things done here, 
remain hereafter. And particularly, that the damned 
know and remember that they have relations on eartli, 
is evident, from the rich man's being concerned for his 
father's house, and his five brethren, verses 27 & 28. 
It is not to be questioned, then, but that the blessed, 
likewise, call to mind those that were related to them, 
and that they are concerned for their good and welfare; 
and w hen they meet in heaven, greet them most kindly, 
and liold commerce Avith them, and recall the passages 
of their former conversation. All the ancient and pious 
fathers agreed in this. St. Cyprian* owns, that our 
parents, brethren, children, and near relations, expect 
us in heaven, and are solicitous for our good. St. Je- 
romef comforts a good lady on this account, that we 
shall see our friends, and know them. 

St. Augustine endeavours to mitigate the sorrow of 
an Italian w idow with this consideration, that she shall 
be restored to her husband, and behold and know him. 
And this was an apprehension that the thinking men 
among the Pagans had attained to. Socrates, a little 
before he drank his deadly draught, told his friends 
how valuable a thing it was to have conference in the 
other life with Orpheus, Musseus, Homer, Hesiod, and 
other brave men — how happy he should be in their 
society. And he often wished to depart out of this 
world, that he might enjoy the conversation of those 
excellent persons. 

But here it will be objected, that this knowledge 
and remembrance of things and persons in heaven will 
be troublesome and afflictive; for this will call to their 
minds the sins they have committed here, and the evil 
consequences of them in their lives; and this must needs 
produce grief and disturbance of mind. But the answer 
to this is easy: the remembrance of their past miscar- 
riages now pardoned, will not be afflictive, but excite 

* Serm. de Morte. f Epist, ad Theodorum. 



THE REV. DH. EDWARDS, .99 

their thankfulness and their joy. And the calling to 
mind the evils and dangers that befell them^ but which 
they are now, and forever, freed from, will be so far 
from disturbing them, that it will create an unspeakable 
delight.* In short, the blessed should not have the re- 
membrance and knowledge of one another, and of what 
befell them in this vale of tears, unless this were some 
ways serviceable to advance and heighten their happi- 
ness; and, therefore, so far as knowledge and remem- 
brance are not serviceable to this purpose, we may as- 
sure ourselves that they shall cease and be extinct, be- 
fore we enter the place of eternal happiness. But, after 
all, we must not be over-curious and scrupulous. 
Many things relating to the future state, and particu- 
larly to the blessedness of heaven, are hid from us. 
But this we are certain of, that all that knowledge and 
understanding of things and persons shall go with us 
to heaven, that is void of imperfection, and that will 
in any measure augment our bliss. 

• Habet enim praeteriti doloris secura recordatio delectationem.— Cic. 
Epist. lib. V. ep. 12. 



A SEBMON 

JSr THE LdTE WILLMM PJLEF, 

Archdeacon of Carlisle. 

ON THE KNOWLEDGE OF ONE ANOTHER IN A 
FUTURE STATE. 



Whom we preach, warning every man, and teaching every man 
in all wisdom, that we may present every man perfect in 
Christ Jesus.—Co^. i. 29. 



These words have a primary and secondary use. 
In the first, and most obvious view, they express the 
extreme earnestness and anxiety with which the apos- 
tle Paul sought the salvation of his converts. To bring 
men to Jesus Christ, and, when brought, to turn and 
save them from their sins, and to keep them steadfast 
unto the end in the faith and obedience to which they 
were called, was the whole work of the great apostle's 
ministry, the desire of his heart, and the labour of his 
life: it was that in which he spent all his time and all 
his thoughts; for the sake of which he travelled from 
country to country, warning every man, as he speaks 
in the text, and exhorting every man, enduring every 
hardship and every injury; ready, at all times, to sacri- 
fice his life, and, at last, actually sacrificing it, in order 
to accomplish the great purpose of his mission, that he 
might at the last day ^^ present his beloved converts 
perfect in Christ Jesus;'^ by which I understand St. 
Paul to express his hope and prayer, that, at the gene- 
ral judgment of the world, he might present to Christ 
the fruits of his ministry, the converts whom he made 
to his faith and religion, and might present them per- 
fect in every good work. And, if this be rightly inter- 
preted, then it affords the manifest and necessary infei^ 



10£ A SERMON BY ARCHDEACON PALEY. 

ence, that the saints in a future life will meet and be 
known again to one another: for how, without knowing 
again his converts, in their new and glorious state, could 
St. Paul desire or expect to present them at the last 
day? My brethren, this is a doctrine of real conse- 
quence: that we shall come again to a new life; that we 
shall, by some method or other, be made happy, or be 
made miserable, in that new state, according to the 
deeds done in the body, according as we have acted and 
governed ourselves in this world, is a point affirmed ab- 
solutely and positively, in all shapes, and under every 
variety of expression, in almost every page of the New 
Testament. It is the grand point inculcated from the 
beginning to the end of that book. But concerning the 
particular nature of the change we are to undergo, and 
in what is to consist the employment and happiness of 
those blessed spirits which are received into heaven, 
our information, even under the Gospel, is very limited. 
We own it is so. Even St. Paul, who had extraordinary 
communications, confessed ^^that in these things we 
see through a glass darkly." But at the same time that 
we acknowledge that we know little, v/e ought to re- 
member, that without Christ we should have known 
nothing. It might not be possible, in our present state, 
to convey to us, by words, more clear or explicit con- 
ceptions of what will hereafter become to us; if possi- 
ble, it might not be fitting. In that celebrated chapter, 
the 15th of Corinthians, St. Paul makes an inquisitive 
person ask, " How are the dead raised, and with what 
body do they come?'^ From his answer to this question, 
we are able, I think, to collect thus much clearly and 
certainly, that at the resurrection we shall have bodies 
of some sort or other; that they will be totally different, 
and greatly excelling our present bodies, though possi- 
bly, in some manner or other, proceeding from them, 
as a plant from its seed; that, as there exists in nature 
a great variety of animal substances; one flesh of man, 
another of beasts, another of birds, another of fishes; as 
there exist, also, great differences in the nature, dignity, 
and splendour of inanimate substances — ^^one glory of 



A SERMON BY ARCHDEACON PALEY. 103 

the sun^ another of the moon, another of the stars:" so 
there subsist, likewise, in the magazines of God Al- 
mighty's creation, two very distinct kinds of bodies 
(still both bodies), a natural body and a spiritual body; 
that the natural body is what human beings bear about 
with them now ; the spiritual body, far surpassing the 
other, what the blessed will be clothed with hereafter. 
^^ Flesh and blood,'' our apostle teaches, <^^ cannot in- 
herit the kingdom of heaven;" that is, is by no means 
suited to that state, is not capable of it. Yet living men 
are flesh and blood; the dead in the graves are the re- 
mains of the same; wherefore, to make all who are 
Christ's capable of entering into his eternal kingdom, 
and at all fitted for it, a great change shall be suddenly 
wrought; as well all the just who shall be alive at the 
coming of Christ (whenever that event takes place), as 
those who shall be raised from the dead, shall, in the 
twinkling of an eye, be all changed: bodies they shall 
retain still, but so altered in form and fashion, in nature 
and substance, that " this corruptible shall put on in- 
corruption;" what is now necessarily mortal, and neces- 
sarily perishable, shall acquire a fixed and permanent 
existence. And this is agreeable to, or, rather the same 
thing as what our apostle delivers in another Epistle, 
where he teaches us, that " Christ shall change our vile 
body, that it may be like his glorious body;" a change 
so great, so stupendous, that he justly styles it an act of 
Omnipotence. " According," says he, " to the mighty 
working, whereby He is able to subdue all things to 
himself." 

Since, then, a great alteration will take place in the 
frame and constitution of the bodies with which we 
shall be raised, from those which we carry with us to 
the grave, it requires some authority, or passage of 
Scripture, to prove, that, after this change, and in this 
new state, we shall be known again to one another; that 
those who know each other on earth, w ill know each 
other in heaven. I do alloAv, that the general strain of 
Scripture seems to suppose it; that when St. Paul speaks 
of 'Hhe spirits of just men made perfect^" and of their 



104 A SERMON BY ARCIIDKACON PALEY. 

coming to ^^the general assembly of tlie saints/' it seems 
to import, that we should be known of them, and of one 
another; that when Christ declares^ ^^that the secrets of 
the heart shall be disclosed/' it imports that they shall 
be disclosed to those who were before the witnesses of 
our actions. I do also think, that it is agreeable to the 
dictates of reason itself to believe, that the same gi'eat 
God who brings men to life again, will bring those to- 
gether whom death has separated. When his power is 
at work in this great dispensation, it is very probable, 
that this should be a part of his gracious design. But, 
for a specific iext^ I know none wJiich speaks more 
positively than this which I have cliosen. St. Paul, you 
see, expected tliat he sliould know and be known to 
those his converts; that their relations should subsist, 
and be retained between them; and with this hope he 
laboured and endeavoured, instantly and incessantly, 
that he might be able at last to present them, and to pre- 
sent them perfect in Clirist Jesus. Now, what St. Paul 
appeared to look for as to the general continuance, or 
ratlier revival, of our knowledge of each other after 
death, every man wlio strives, like St. Paul, to attain 
to the resurrection of the dead, may expect, as well 
as he. 

Having discoursed thus far concerning the article of 
the doctrine itself, I \^ill now proceed to enforce such 
practical reflections as result from it. Now, it is neces- 
sary for you to observe, that all which is here produced 
from Scripture, concerning the resurrection of the dead, 
relates solely to the resurrection of the just. It is of 
them only, that St. Paul speaks in the 15th chapter of 
Corinthians. It is of the body of him who is accepted 
in Christ, that the apostle declares, ^^that it is sown 
in dishonour, but raised in glory; sown in weakness, 
raised in power.'' 

Likewise, when he speaks, in another place, of 
^^ Christ changing our vile bodies, that they may be like 
his glorious body;" ft is of the bodies of Christ's saints 
alone, of whom this is said. This point is, I tliink, 
agreed upon amongst learned men, and is, indeed, 



A SERMON BY ARCFIBEACON PALEY. 105 

very plain. In like manner, in the passage of the text, 
and I think it would be found true in every other, in 
Avhich mankind knowing one another in a future life, is 
implied, the implication extends only to those who are 
received amongst the blessed. Whom was St. Paul to 
know? even those whom he was to present perfect in 
Christ Jesus. Concerning the reprobate and rejected, 
wiiether they will not be banished from the presence of 
God, and from all their former relations; whether they 
will not be lost, as to all happiness of their own, so to 
the knowledge of those who knew them in this mortal 
state, we have from Scripture no assurance or intima- 
tion whatever. One thing seems to follow, with proba- 
bility, from the nature of the thing, namely, if the wick- 
ed be known to one another in a state of perdition, 
theu' knowledge will only serve to aggravate their mi- 
sery. 

What then is the inference from all this? Do we 
seek, do we covet to be earnestly restored to the socie-. 
ty of those who were once near and dear to us, and who 
are gone before? It is only by leading godly lives, that 
w^e can hope to have this wish accomplished. Should 
we prefer to all delights, to all pleasures in the world, 
the satisfaction of meeting again, in happiness and 
peace, those whose presence, whilst they were amongst 
us, made up the comfort and enjoyment of our lives; it 
must be, by giving up our sins, by parting with our 
criminal delights and guilty pursuits, that we can ever 
expect to attain to this satisfaction. 

Is there a great difference between the thought of 
losing those we love, for ever; of taking, at their deaths 
or our own, an eternal farewell, never to see them more, 
and the reflection, that we are about to be separated, 
for a few years at the longest, to be united with them 
in a new and better state of mutual existence? Is there, 
I say, a difference to the heart of man between these 
two things? and does it not call upon us to strive, with 
redoubled endeavours, that the case may truly turn out 
so? The more and more we reflect upon the difference 

14 



106 A SERMON BY ARCHDEACON PALEY. 

between the consequences of a lewd, unthinking, care- 
less, profane, dishonest life, and a life of religion, sobri- 
ety, seriousness, good actions, and good principles, the 
more we shall see the madness and stupidity of the one, 
and the true solid wisdom of the other. This is one of 
the distinctions. If we go on in our sins, we are not to 
expect to awaken to a joyful meeting with our friends 
and relatives, and dear connexions. If we turn away 
from our sins, and take up religion in earnest, we may. 
My brethren, religion disarms even death. It disarms it 
of that which is its bitterness and sting, the power of di- 
viding those who are dear to one another. But this bless- 
ing, like every blessing which it promises, is only to the 
just and good, to the penitent and reformed, to those 
who are touched at the heart with a sense of its impor- 
tance; who know thoroughly and experimentally^ who 
feel, in their inward mind and consciences that religion 
is the only course that can end well: that can bring 
either them or theirs, to the presence of God, blessed 
for evermore; that can cause them, after the toils of life 
and struggles of death are over, to meet again in a joy- 
ful deliverance from the gi^ave; in a new and never- 
ceasing happiness in the presence and society of one 
another. 



A SERMON 

BY THE REV. THOMAS GISBORJ^'E, M. A, 

AN EXPOSITION OF THE FIRST PART OF THE LES- 
SON APPOINTED FOR THE BURIAL SERVICE. 

Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first fruitsi 
of them that slept. — 1 Cor. xv. 20. 

^LL scmpture is given hy inspiration of God; and is 
profitahle for doctrine, fm^ reproof for correction, for 
instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be 
perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.^ Such 
is the divine authority, sucli is the comprehensive na- 
ture, such are the manifold and supremely important 
uses of the Bible. Hence it becomes the duty and the 
wisdom of the ministers of the gospel, in their endea- 
vours to train up the flocks committed to their charge, 
in the knov^ledge and obedience of the faith of Christ, 
from time to time to vary the methods in v\^hich they 
deduce instruction from the word of God; to vary them, 
however, within such limits only as the Scriptures 
themselves completely authorise; and to vary them, if 
in some measure for the purpose of exciting a more 
lively attention among their hearers, yet principally for 
the sake of successively impressing on their congrega- 
tions the different helps and encouragements to holi- 
ness, and the different dissuasives from sin, which the 
sacred writings supply. Thus at one time the preacher 
will dwell chiefly, though by no means without a de- 
cided reference to practice, on doctrines. At another 
time, regarding the truth and import of the doctrines as 
established, he will enter into a fuller detail concerning 
the conduct which a firm belief in them is designed and 
adapted to produce. Sometimes he will unfold the na- 
ture, and evince the efficacy, of faith. Sometimes hQ 

* 3 Tim. iii. 16, If. 



108 A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GIS150RNE. 

"will enlarge on holy tempers and good works; those 
fruits of the Spirit, by wliicli genuine faith is mani- 
fested and adorned. Hometimes he will bnild his ad- 
monitions on the perceptive parts of the Old, or of the 
New Testament. Sometimes he will derive them from 
the memorable histories which those records contain of 
righteous men protected, delivered, and rewarded by 
that God whom they served and glorified; or of rebel- 
lious despisers of the divine law, condemned to shame, 
anguish and destruction. Sometimes he will fix his 
thoughts on a single verse; and will explain with mi- 
nuteness of investigation, and enforce with copiousness 
of reasoniug, tlie religious truth which it involves. 
Sometimes he will select a passage of greater length; 
point out tlie bearing and connection of the arguments 
employed by the inspired prophet, evangelist, or apos- 
tle; and apply them so far as they may be lawfully 
applied, to the edification, the support, and the comfort 
of christians of the present day. The last of these va- 
rious methods of obtaining instruction from the word 
of God, is that which I propose now to pjirsue. In the 
present, and in a subsequent discourse (for the subject 
is too extensive to be compressed with advantage into 
the compass of a single sermon), it will be my object 
to direct your minds to that portion of St. Paul's first 
epistle to the Corinthians, which opens with the verse 
selected for the text and extends to the conclusion of 
the chapter. It is a portion of scripture in the highest 
degree interesting on account of the momentous truths 
which it discloses. And it is renderetl peculiarly im- 
pressive by the solemn and affecting nature of the oc- 
casions on which it is publicly employed. It is a por- 
tion of Scripture which we have frequently heard pro- 
nounced over the lifeless bodies of our friends. It is 
one which others within no distant period shall hear 
pronounced over our own. The church to which we 
belong, lias wisely and piously endeavoured to render 
the interment of the dead a source of edification to the 
living. When pride is humbled, and the heart softened 
by affliction; when the coffin slowly borne to the house 



A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 109 

of God^ pausing there awhile, on its way towards the 
grave, or placed within its narrow mansion, and receiv- 
ing the last looks of surviving anguish, proclaims with 
a voice which cannot be misunderstood, the speedy 
and inevitable end of all earthly possessions and en- 
joyments; the mourner is taught to look to Christ the 
Redeemer, the resurrection, and the life, in whom who- 
soever believeth, though he were dead, yet shall he live. 
He is taught that, if the Lord has taken away, he has 
taken only what he gave. He is taught that, though 
man walketh in a vain shadow, yet his hope is truly in 
the Lord. He is taught that, if God turneth man to de- 
struction, again he saith, ^^Come again, ye children of 
men." He is taught, that a voice from heaven hath pro- 
claimed, Blessed are the dead, which die in the Lord: 
even so saith the sjjirit; for they rest from their labours. 
He is taught not to sorrow^ as men without hope, for 
them who sleep in Christ. He is taught, that the souls 
of the faithful, after they are delivered from the burden 
of the flesh, are with Christ in joy and felicity. He is 
taught, tliat though earth be committed to earth, ashes 
to ashes, dust to dust; it is in sure and certain hope of 
the resurrection of the just to eternal life, through our 
Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body, 
that it may be like his glorious body, according to the 
working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to 
himself; and shall then pronounce that benediction to 
all that love and fear God, Come ye Messed children of 
my Father, receive the kingdom prepared for you, from 
the beginning of the world. In the passage from the 
first epistle to the Corinthians, appointed to form a part 
of the funeral service, this fundamental doctrine »f our 
faith, this glorious and inestimable hope, this unfailing 
support to the righteous, under all the labours and af- 
flictions of mortality, is established by irresistible ar- 
guments; guarded against cavils and misconceptions; 
displayed under the most animating representations; 
and practically applied to purposes the most noble. 

Let us proceed, in reliance on the blessing of Him, 
under the guidance of whose Spirit all Scripture has 



110 A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 

been recorded, to the full consideration of this portion 
of Holy Writ. 

In the earlier part of the chapter, the apostle dis- 
closes the circumstance which had convinced him of the 
necessity of the lesson which he was about to inculcate. 
"If Christ, ^^ saith he, '^ be preached that he rose from 
the dead, how say some among you that there is no re- 
surrection of the deadP^' 

Though the Old Testament contains, especially in 
the writings of the prophets, many forcible intimations 
of a future existence, the Sadducees, a powerful and 
numerous sect among the Jews, denied that there re- 
mained a life beyond the grave. Among the heathen, 
all was obscurity and doubt, or darkness and unbelief. 
When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some 
listened with prejudice, contempt, and reluctance; others 
openly scoffed and mocked at the novelty and strange- 
ness of the doctrine. Hence, among the early Chris- 
tians, whether of Jewish or of Gentile race, there was 
found a favourable opening for false teachers, who 
were adventurous enough to undermine and oppose the 
hope of a future life. Two heretical declaimers of this 
description, Hymeneus and Philetus, are specified by 
St. Paul, in his second Epistle to Timothy, as having 
erred concerning the truth, saying, that the resurrection 
is past already: affirming the promised resurrection to 
be of a figurative nature; a resurrection to be ac- 
complished in the present Avorld; a resurrection, as 
they probably explained themselves, from a state of 
vice to a state of virtue. Though Hymeneus, accord- 
ing to the positive declaration of the same apostle, had 
in this fundamental point made shipwreck concerning 
faith, because he had first put aivay a good conscience; 
though both these corrupters of the truth as it is in Je- 
sus, having emancipated themselves from the dread of 
a judgment to come, would naturally plunge, with little 
restraint, into flagitiousness, and might thus have been 
expected to bring general discredit on their opinions, 
even in the eyes of common observers; yet, their word 
did eat as doth a canker ^ and overthrew the faith of some. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. Ill 

Teachers infected witli the same senseless and perni- 
cious principles, had insinuated themselves, and ac- 
quired influence among the christians of Corinth. Well 
aware, that the admission of such principles in any de- 
gree, tended in an equal degree to uproot Christianity 
from its foundations, the apostle strenuously advances 
forw^ard, to contend for the genuine faith, the faith ori- 
ginally delivered to the saints. He recalls to the remem- 
brance of liis converts, that Gospel, which he had 
preached to them at the beginning; that Gospel, which 
they had embraced; that Gospel by which they were 
to be saved: a Gospel, built on the groundwork of 
Christ^s resurrection from the dead; and establishing by 
infallible proofs, his repeated appearances after his re- 
turn from the grave, separately to St. Peter, afterwards 
to St. James, more than once to all the apostles collect- 
ed together, then to an assembly of above five hundred 
disciples, most of whom were still alive; and, last of 
all, to St. Paul himself. He warns tliem, that the reali- 
ty of the resurrection of Christ was inseparably con- 
nected with the assurance of their own future resurrec- 
tion: that if the dead were not to rise, Christ was not 
risen; that if Christ were not risen, the apostles, who 
had promulgated a Gospel proclaiming his resurrection, 
had testified falsely concerning God; that their preach- 
ing had in that case been in vain, an imposture, and a 
delusion; that the Corinthians had believed in vain, and 
were yet in their sins, had placed reliance on a false- 
hood, and were destitute of pardon, and without a pos- 
sibility of salvation; and that all who had fallen asleep 
in Christ, all who, for his sake, had encountered per- 
secution and misery, all who had died in his faith, and 
in full assurance of life eternal through him, had per- 
ished. 

Having thus fully set before them the consequences 
which would necessarily ensue, if the pestilent doctrine 
with which they were assailed, were founded in truth: 
a doctrine which would prove that Christ had not risen 
from the dead; that he had wrought no atonement for 
sin; that he was unable to perform his promises; that 



lltJ A SERMON BA'' Tllf: REV. T. GISJ50RNE. 

no hope remained for tlie righteous; that the whole fa- 
bric of the Christian religion was a human contrivance, 
the production of deliberate fraud and unexampled hy- 
pocrisy; he cheers them in the words of the text with 
a solemn statement of the real fact as to the resurrec- 
tion of their Lord, and the blessed result of his resur- 
rection, with regard to all those who trusted in him. 

But now is Christ risen from the deady and become 
the first fruits of them that slept. " Be not shaken in 
mind," for thus we may conceive the apostle address- 
ing his beloved followers; ^^be not shaken in mind, nor 
carried about with every wind of doctrine. Hold fast, 
without wavering, the profession of your faith, and es- 
pecially of that most important article, on which the 
truth of the Gospel, and every promise which you che- 
rish of pardon and future happiness depend — the resur- 
rection of your Saviour from the dead. 

"Regard not these unrighteous deceivers, who are 
come among you, subverting your souls, ministers of 
the prince of darkness, transforming themselves into 
apostles of Christ: the chief of whom, Hyme^.eus, 1 am 
constrained to deliver unto Satan, I am compelled to 
subject to the penal infliction of a miraculous and se- 
vere disease, that we may learn not to blaspheme; and 
that, being thus driven by the punishment of the flesh 
to a conviction of his guilt, his soul may perchance be 
saved in the day of the Lord.^ Christ is risen from the 
dead. He rose on the third day, according to the Scrip- 
tures. God did not leave his soul in hell, in the abode 
of departed spirits; neither did he suffer his Holy One 
to see corruption. And he is become the first fruits of 
them that slept. He is the first born from the dead, that 
in all things he might have preeminence. For it pleased 
the Father, that in him should all fulness dwell. As by 
the oblation of the first fruits, the divine blessing was 
drawn down upon the whole harvest; so has Christ 
sanctified all the people of God, for whose sins he died, 
for whose justification he arose. If you believe that Je- 

* 1 Cor. V. o. 1 Tim. i. 20. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 113 

siis died^ and rose again, believe that them also which 
sleep in Jesus^ will God bring with him.'^ 

By establishing the fact of the resurrection of Christ, 
the apostle had provided a conclusive answer to every 
objection w hich could be urged against the future re- 
surrection of the dead, on whatever principle the objec- 
tion might be founded. Was the resurrection of the 
dead pronounced impossible? The reply was at hand: 
^^ Christ is risen. The same power which raised him, is 
able to raise all men.'^ Was the resurrection described, 
in the language of profane despisers among the hea- 
then, as an unworthy and undesirable hope? The re- 
ply was ready: "Christ is risen. Can that hope be un- 
Avorthy, can that hope be undesirable to men, which, 
when the Son of God became man, was perfected in 
him?'^ 

Was the resurrection represented as an uncertain 
event? The Christian was prepared to answer, " Christ 
is risen; and is become the first fruits of them that slept. 
He, who hath proved himself to be the Son of God, 
by rising from the dead, hath declared, that all who 
are in the grave shall hear his voice, and shall come 
forth."^ 

So deeply, however, was St, Paul impressed with 
the importance of the subject, that he labours with ex- 
treme earnestness in the remainder of the chapter, to 
confirm and illustrate the truth of the doctrine that all 
men shall be raised from the dead, and to explain the 
blessedness of the change which shall then be experi- 
enced bv the risjhteous. 

For since by man came death, by man came also the 
resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die^ even so 
in Christ shall all be made alive. 

Death came by man: in Adam all die. Adam, trans- 
gressing the divine command, by obedience to which, 
he was to hold his happy state, was expelled from Pa- 
radise, lest, by continuing to eat of the tree of life, he 
should live for ever. Barred by the flaming sword of the 
cherubim from all access to its vivifying fruit, he was 
abandoned to his natural mortality. His mortal nature 

15 



114 A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 

descended to his cliiklren: from us it shall descend to 
the latest generation of mankind. So death passed upon 
all men. By Adam's transgression, every man has been 
subjected to the sentence, Dust thou m% and unto dust 
shalt thou return. But God is a God of mercy. Where 
sin abounded, he decreed that grace should much more 
abound. He decreed that the ruin brought on the hu- 
man race by the prince of evil spirits, who animated 
the serpent, by Satan, the father of lies, who was thus 
a murderer from the beginnings should not be without 
hope, and without end. He decreed, that by a Being of 
that very nature, which the devil had degraded and sub- 
dued; by a descendant, according to the flesh, from 
those miserable sinners, whom he now triumphantly 
led captive at his will: the loss of man should be re- 
gained, the great enemy should, in his turn, be van- 
quished, and hurled into perdition. He decreed, that 
the seed of the woman should hruise the serpenfs head. 
He decreed, that, as by man came death, by man should 
also come the resurrection of the dead: that as in Adam 
all die J even so in Christ shall all he made alive, Christ 
undertook the office of mercy and reconciliation. He 
undertook, though without sin, to be made in the like- 
ness of sinful flesh; to lay down his life on the cross, 
there to accomplish, by his meritorious sufferings, an 
atonement sufficient for the sins of the whole world; 
there openly to triumph over the principalities and pow- 
ers of darkness; there to destroy the empire of Satan, 
and to set free the prisoners of the tomb. I will ransom 
ihemy he cried, from the power of the grave: I will re- 
deem them from death, death! I will he thy plague. O 
grave/ I will be thy destruction. Was the dominion ac- 
quired through Adam by death, universal? So also is 
the redemption from death purchased by Jesus Christ. 
Tliere shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the 
just and unjust. The dead^ small and great, shall stand 
before God. Ml that are in the graves, shall hear the 
voice of the Son of God, and shall come forth: they that 
have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they 
that have done evilp unto the resuirection of damnation. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 115 

But every man in Ms own order^ Christy the first 
fruits: afterwards^ they that are Chrisfs^ at his coming. 

The apostle^ having evinced^ in the preceding 
verses^ the universality of the resurrection^ both of the 
righteous and of the wicked^ is solicitous to win 
the hearts no less than the understandings of the Co- 
rinthians to a willing acceptation of the doctrine of a 
future life. Hence, throughout the subsequent part of 
the chapter, he directs their attention almost exclusively 
to circumstances which pertain to the resurrection of 
the just. Christ had already fulfilled the prophecies, 
which had declared that he should be the first who 
should rise from the dead. He had ascended into hea- 
ven, and had entered into his glory. He had already pre- 
sented himself before the throne of God as the inter- 
cessor, the forerunner, and the representative, of his 
saints. In their due time, and in their appointed order, 
he will receive them from the east and from the w est, 
from the north and from the south, into the kingdom 
prepared for them, through his covenanted atonement, 
from the foundation of the world. When the Lord him- 
self shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the 
voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God; the 
dead in Christ shall rise first. And then shall the righ- 
teous who remain alive at that awful hour be cauglit up 
together with them to meet the Lord in the air: and so 
shall they all be for ever with the Lord.* 

Then cometh the end, when he shall have delivered 
up the kingdom to God, even the Father: tvhen he shall 
have put down all rule, and all authority and power. For 
he must reign, till he hath jJut all enemies under his feet. 
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death: for he 
hath put all things under his feet. But when he saith, 
all things are put under him; it is manifest that he is ex- 
cepted, which did put all things under him. And when all 
things shall he subdued unto him; then shall the Son also 
himself be subject unto him that put all tilings under him^, 
that God may be all in all 

* X Thess. iv. 15—17. 



116 A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORTsE. 

Because lie who was the Son of God, vouchsafed to 
become the Son of man; because he who thought it not 
robbery to be equal Avitli God, he who in the beginning 
was with God and was God, took uj)on himself the 
form of a servant, and humbled himself, and became 
obedient unto death, even the death of the cross: there- 
fore God hath highly exalted him. As a partaker of 
the everlasting Godhead, our Saviour could not be ex- 
alted. But in his assumed nature as man, in his cha- 
racter as Mediator, he was capable of being exalted 
and glorified. Tliy throne, O God, saith the Father unto 
the Son, thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: a scep- 
tre of righteousness is the sceptre of thy kingdom. Thou 
hast loved righteousness, and hated iniquity: therefore 
God, even thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of 
gladness above thy felloivs,^ 

'' O Thou, who art a partaker of the sovereign and 
eternal Godliead; thou, who, when thou shalt become 
incarnate in human nature, shalt completely fulfil my 
righteous law by the Spirit which shall be poured upon 
thee without measure: as man shalt thou be raised unto 
glory foreign and unknown to the nature which thou 
shalt have assumed, unto a throne of everlasting righ- 
teousness.^^ To Christ, as man, hath his Almighty 
Father given a name which is above every name; that 
at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things 
in Heaven and things in earth, and things under the 
earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus 
Christ is Lord. He hath set Christ, as man, at his own 
right hand in heaven, far above all principality and 
power, and might and dominion, and every name that 
is named, not only in this world, but in that which is 
to come; and liath put all things, himself excepted, un- 
der his feet. All power is given unto Christ in heaven 
and in earth. And he must reign. His separate and 
mediatorial kingdom must continue, until he shall have 
put down all rule and all authority and power, until 
he shall have subdued all things unto himself^ nntil af- 

* Heb. i. 5—8, 9. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 117 

ter having extended the dominion of his church over 
the whole earth; after having crushed with the rod of 
his vengeance all his adversaries, whether rebellious 
men or revolted angels, he shall complete the glories 
and evince the everlasting durability of his triumph by 
the perpetual destruction of death. That last enemy of 
man, that latest antagonist of our Redeemer, shall as- 
suredly be destroyed for ever: for God hath put all 
things, even death himself, under the feet of his Son. 
Far in that he put all in subjection under him^ he left 
nothing that is not put under him. For Christ took not 
on him tJie nature of angels; but he took on him the seed 
of Abraham; he also himself took part of flesh and bloody 
that through death he might destroy him that had the 
power of death, that is, the deviL* Christ shall enthrone 
his righteous servants in an inheritance of everlasting 
happiness, an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, that 
fadeth not away; where deatJi cometh no more, for they 
shall die no more, but are equal unto the angels, and are 
the children of God, being the children of the resurrec- 
tion. Then, when he shall thus have accomplished his 
warfare, thus effectually attained and established for 
ever the purposes of mercy for which he took human 
nature upon him; he shall deliver up the kingdom to 
his Father: he shall resign his mediatorial kingdom, 
that separate and delegated sovereignty of the universe 
which he had held in a character now no longer neces- 
sary, to the Father from Avhom he had received it; that 
the eternal Godhead, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
may thenceforth be all in all. 

Such are the sublime and stupendous views which 
the word of God displays of the universal empire of 
the Son of God, who died for us upon the cross, head 
over all things to his church, angels and authorities and 
powers being made subject unto him: he is indeed able 
to save to the uttermost all that come by him unto God« 
He who is Lord of earth and heaven vouchsafes to call 
Jiis people by the endearing name of brethren. He 

* iTeb. il, 8—14—16, 



118 A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 

knoweth whereof we are made; he remembereth that 
we are but dust: for in every thing, except sin, he was 
made like unto his brethren. We have not an High 
Priest which cannot be touched with a feeling of our 
infirmities: for he was in all points tempted like as we 
are; and having himself suffered, being tempted he is 
able to succour them that are tempted. In the days of 
his flesh, he offered up prayers and supplications with 
strong crying and tears unto Him that w as able to save, 
and he was heard: and his ears are ever open to the 
prayers of his servants, his arm is ever stretched forth 
in defence of the heirs of salvation. Look up then to 
Christ, ye, wlio, though deeply conscious of your sins, 
are humbly labouring through the sanctification of his 
Spirit to serve liim in faith and holiness; look up to 
your glorified King with confidence and joy. From his 
throne in the heaven of heavens he is beholding you 
for good. By night and by day he watches over you; 
shields you from evil, supports you under trials, deli- 
vers you from temptation. Fly to him for continual 
protection: plead with him for never-failing grace. 
Depend with unshaken reliance on his promise, on 
his power, on his wisdom, on his love. He who spared 
not his own life for you, shall he not give you all 
things? All tilings are yours; whether the world, or life, 
or death, or things present, or things to come, all things 
are yours: all things are ordained, and controlled, and 
directed for your happiness, because ye are Chris fs.^ 
But tremble, ye unrepenting sinners, ye who de- 
spise and disobey the Gospel: tremble to behold that 
Saviour whom ye reject, exalted to the dominion of the 
universe. By your perseverance in transgression you 
constrain him to be your enemy. You range yourselves 
in battle array against your judge: you turn a deaf ear 
to his offers of forgiveness: you pluck down death and 
misery everlasting with your own hands upon your- 
selves. What is your confidence? Do you provoke the 
Almighty to anger? Are you stronger than he? Those 

* 1 Cor. iii. 21— 2S. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. T. GISBORNE. 119 

whom his love cannot reclaim, his indignation shall 
overwhelm. Jesus, the Lamb of God, sacrificed for your 
sins, you despise. Behold Jesus, the Son of God, him- 
self one with the Father, seated on his Father's throne. 
Behold the dawning of the great day. Behold, he cometh 
with clouds; and every eye shall see him! Behold, the 
dawning of the great day. Behold, the day when the 
sun shall become black as sacJc'cloth, and the moon as 
blood: when the stars shall fall from heaven, and the 
hea,ven shall depart as a scroll when it is rolled together^ 
and every mountain and island shall be moved out of their 
places: when all the enemies of Christ, kings of the 
earth, and great men and rich men, and chief captains^ 
and mighty men, and every bondman and every freeman, 
shall hide themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the 
mountains; and shall say to the mountains and rocks, 
Fall on us, and hide us from the face of Him that sitteth 
on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb. For the 
great day of his wrath is come: and who shall be able to 
standP^ Listen even yet to the voice of mercy. Bend the 
stubborn knee; bow down the hardened heart. He still 
waits to be gracious: but the season of trial will have 
an end. His Spirit will not always strive with man. 
Your time of trial may be expiring. Humble yourself 
before Christ, the Lord of Heaven and earth: trust in 
his atoning blood: pray without ceasing for his grace: 
and save yourselves, while yet you may, from tlie re- 
siirrection of damnation, 

* Rev. i. 7. vi. 12—17. 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

BY THE REVERE J^D TV. JOA^ES, M, A, F. R. S. 

As touching the resurrection of the dead, have ye not read that 
which was spoken to you by God, saying, 1 am the God of 
Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob? God is not 
the God of the dead, but of the living. — Matt, xxii. 31, 32. 

The rewards of another life were promised to th& 
people of God, under the name of a sabbath or rest. 
When God's works of this world were finished, he rest- 
ed. Now it was promised, that unto that rest of Msj his 
people, if faithful, should enter. Where could it be, but 
in heaven? for there God rested: when could it be, but 
after the works of man are finislied; that is, after this 
present life; as the rest of God was after the works of 
God? The sabbath, or rest of the seventh day, was 
therefore a perpetual memorial, before and under the 
law, that God had so rested, and that man should rest 
with him; and it was a constant monition, to those who 
observed it, of an heavenly rest; as the apostle argues 
more at large in the epistle to the Hebrews,^ You will 
not wonder at this language of the law, nor find it diffi- 
cult, when you see how it is copied in other parts of 
the Scripture. In the prophet Jeremiah^ where Rachel 
mourneth for the death of her children, she is comfort- 
etl with a promise, that they shall come again from the 
land of the enemy; their death is expressed as a capti- 
vity; and the region of departed spirits, is the country, 
in which the grand or the last enemy detains his pri- 
soners. But, saith the Lord, there is hope in thine end; 
that is, in thy deaths that thy children shall come again 
to their own border; that is, that they shall return at the 
resurrection, as captives are brought forth from the land 

* This argument is drawn out of the Lectures on the figurU' 
tive Language of the Scriptui'e^ p. 362, § 6, second edition. 

16 



122 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

of the enemy, and restored to their native country. See 
Jer. xxxi. 15, 16, 17. In the same language doth the 
widow of Tekoah plead with David: she takes the me- 
taphor which arises from the occasion of Absalom's ha- 
nishment; and argues, that though death is appointed 
unto all men, yet God deviseth means, that his banished 
be not expelled from him. 2 Sam. xiv. 14. 

Now, if death and life are thus spoken of in the 
prophets, under the similitude of leaving and returning 
to our native land, this is the land which God promised 
to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who never enjoyed the 
earthly Canaan, but were pilgrims and strangers upon 
earth. This is the land wherein dwelleth righteousness, 
in which shall be found the true tabernacle of God, the 
city of God, the new Jerusalem, where saints and an- 
gels shall dwell together. 

All this, as the apostle assures us, was intended by 
the promise in the text. God is there called the God of 
those who are dead in the body, because, they are still 
alive in the spirit; and having prepared for them a city 
which they shall enjoy at the resurrection, he is not 
ashamed to he called their God; as he would have been, 
if his covenant with them had extended only to the pre- 
sent life. Because he gave an earthly land, and a city 
built by men, we think he meant nothing else; where- 
as these things never m ere more than similitudes and 
pledges; the one of an heavenly country, the other of a 
city^ whose builder and maker is God, 

Of that place which is reserved for the blessed after 
the resurrection, we can have no conception, but from 
what we see upon earth; and, therefore, God doth not 
describe it in words of its own to Jews or Christians, 
but gives it to both in sign and figure. Our Saviour 
Jesus Christ tells us, that he is gone before to prepare 
a place for us. What that place is, he does not say. If 
we would know something more of it, we must look 
back to his forerunner, the Joshua or Jesus of the law, 
who went before the people of God, to prepare a place 
for them in Canaan, and settle them in possession of it. 
Hence we shall learn, that the place prepared for us is 



BY THE REV. W. JONES. 12S 

preferable to that we now live in, as the freedom of Ca- 
naan was preferable to the bondage of Egypt; that there 
are many mansions in the heavenly land, as Canaan 
was divided and laid out into many quarters, for the 
orderly reception of the several tribes of Israel; that, 
as they all went up to worship at Jerusalem, so shall 
all the tribes of the earth, who shall be saved, assem- 
ble together to worship in the heavenly city of Grod. 

Other particulars we might gather; but this is the 
only way in which we can learn: and we can go no far- 
ther than this method will carry us, in understanding 
the promises of God. Jewish priests and prophets, even 
though they had taken their lesson from the philoso- 
phers of heathenism (who thought their deities delight- 
ed in good eating and drinking), could have come no 
nearer than they have done; for the things of another 
life are not to be described, as they are, in words which 
man can understand; it is, therefore, never attempted: 
Since the beginning of the world, men have not heard^ 
nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen — 
what he hath prepared for him that tvaiteth for him, 
Isaiah, xiv. 4. 

Our present life is not a state of knowledge, but of 
expectation, on which alone the patriarchs and friends 
of God subsisted so long as they were here. In the want 
of due conception, Jews and Christians are all upon a 
level; all the information they can receive is conveyed 
under the words, life, rest, a promised land, redemption 
from enemies, a city of God, new heavens and new 
earth, and such-like signatures of visible things; for 
which reason the doctrine of the prophet is taken up 
and reasserted by the apostle. See 1 Cor. iii. 9. 

I might add other things, if the time Avould permit, 
on the character of Enoch and Elijah, and the idea 
given of death to the priests, and rulers, and kings of 
ancient times. A state of life after death could never be 
unknown to those who knew that Enoch was actually 
taken into it. His character was handed down to tlie 
times of the Gospel, as that of an evangelical prophet, 
who warned the people of the old world of a judgment 



124 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

to come: Behold^ the Lm'd cometh, &c. See Jude, ver. 
14. Elijah went up alive into heaven; whence it is 
known to all those who knew the fact, that men may 
live in heaven; and so the Jews must of necessity have 
learned, from the rapture of Elijah, what we learn from 
the ascension of Christ; though of heaven itself we 
know nothing hut from the sky which we behold with 
our eyes. When it is said of the saints of old, that 
they slept with their fathers, what could be meant but 
that they should aimkeP as it is actually applied in the 
prophet Daniel, chap. xii. 2: Mcmy of them that sleep 
in the dust of the earthy shall awalce^ some to everlast- 
ing life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. 
So, when it is said of Moses and Aaron, that they 
should be gathered to their fathers, it is therein affirm- 
ed, that their fathers were still alive; which sense is so 
obvious, tliat I find it insisted upon, even by Jewish 
commentators. 

From what has been said, I hope you will see far- 
ther than some learned men have done into the resur- 
i^ection of the dead, and the life everlasting, as they 
were promised under the law of Moses; to show us 
which, against the blindness and perverseness of the 
Sadducees^ was the design of our blessed Saviour in 
the text. 

It may be proper now to clear up a difficulty or two, 
and make some reflections to render this subject of 
moral use to us. 

It has been insisted upon, that temporal blessings in 
the land of Canaan were plainly promised to the people 
under the law of Moses; and thence it has been argued, 
that these were the only sanctions of the law, the only 
rewards of obedience. But this doth by no means fol- 
low; because godliness under the Gospel hath the pro- 
mise both of this life and of that which is to come; and 
it is still the effect of righteousness, to exalt every na- 
tion. The present blessings of this life do not exclude 
the blessings of the other; neither can a nation be bless- 
ed, as such, but in the present life. The promises of 
God are very nearly alike under both Testaments. We, 



JVY 'IHE KEY. W. JO^'ES.. 125 

Christians, have a promise, that, even here, our obedi- 
ence shall he rewarded with houses and lands: but, lest 
we should forget what is to come, the enjoyment of 
these things is tempered with persecutions (Mark, x. 
30); even as God, for the correcting and spiritualiziog 
the minds of those who were under the law, preserved 
wicked heatliens for thorns in their sides, and terrors 
upon their borders. The holy patriarchs never enjoyed 
the blessings promised in their literal sense. To them, 
therefore, as to us, they Avere no more than signs of 
better things; and under every age of the Mosaic dis- 
pensation, they w^ho entered by faitli into the w ays of 
God, and the language of his law, voluntarily re- 
nounced, like the family of the Rechabitesy the enjoy- 
ment of this world, and made themselves pilgrims and 
sojourners upon earth, such as the best of their fa- 
thers had been before, and as all good men were to 
be after. 

It has been objected, farther, against the doctrine of 
immortality in the Old Testament, that life and immor- 
tality were brought to light by the Gospel. But, if by 
bringing to lights we understand the revealing of what 
was not known before^ the expression is not true; be- 
cause the resurrection of the dead w as certainly known 
to the Jews before the Gospel; and the greater part of 
them, in our Saviour's time, never thought of disputing 
it. Therefore, when it is said, that immortality (the 
word is incorruption^ and means, the incorruption of the 
body) was brought to light, the sense is, that not the 
doctrine, but the thing itself, w^as brought to light, by 
the fact of our Saviour's resurrection^ and the actual 
abolition of the power of death. It might, indeed, be 
said, with respect to all mankind, that the thing was 
brought to light; but, if it is understood of the doctrine, 
that can be applied only to the Gentiles, who had no 
knowledge of the resurrection; and the wisest of them 
mocked as soon as they heard of it. Therefore, take it 
either way, and there will be no objection from this 
text against the doctrine of the resurrection in the Old 
Testament. 



126 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

But it is objected, farther, that if this doctrine is re- 
vealed in the law and the Prophets, it is in a way so 
faint and obscure, as if it were intended that the Jews 
should not learn it. This merits consideration; how- 
ever, if the Jews did learn it, and receive it, as they 
undoubtedly did, then there must be in us some mis- 
understanding of the case. Accordingly, we shall find, 
and must allow, that there is an obscurity in the law, 
arising partly from design in God the Lawgiver, and 
partly from ignorance in man. When we read the his- 
torical, prophetical, or ceremonial part of tlie law, we 
see the wisdom of God there delivering itself in para- 
bles; and for the same reasons as our Saviour did af- 
terwards; covering up the precious doctrines of life un- 
der a veil: which method, while it rendered them still 
more precious to the wise, who could see and under- 
stand, secured them from profane heathens and carnal 
Jews. They could not despise tliem, for they could 
not see them.* 

The life and spirit of the signs and figures in the 
Christian mysteries are now as effectually lost to our 
deists, socinians, and other like disputers of this world. 
They who do see through this method, whicli God hath 
constantly observed from the beginning of the world, 
from the tree in Paradise, to the lamb of the passover, 
and from thence to the bread of the Christian sacrament, 
see the better for it: while those who have not an heart 
to understand are blinded, and confirmed in their un- 
belief. Not only the immortality of the soul, and the 
resurrection of the dead, are doctrines of the law lost to 
a carnal mintl, but all other great doctrines are lost in 
like manner: the corruption of man's nature, the bon- 
dage of sin, purification of the heart by grace^ atone- 

* The sense I have here fallen upon coincides so exactly 
with the words of a Jewish writer, that I shall set them down 
for the reader to reflect upon: "Servans reconditam, et relin- 
quens doctis et sapientibus eruendam^ ex tariis legis locis. illam 
futuram beatitudinem. Atque hac eadem causa est, cur nulla 
mentio aperta fiat in Genesi: sub metaj^hora tantura propona- 
tur,"— Menasseh Ben Israel, de Resur, Mort. lib. i. cap. 13* 



BY THE REV. \V. JONES. 127 

meut by the shedding of blood, the true character of 
the Messiah, the calling of the Gentile world, were 
none of them to be found in the law, according to the 
sense of this carnal Jew; neither are they now seen by 
the disputing Christian. Therefore, let us all endeavour 
to put off the Jewish spirit, and pray, in the words of 
the Psalmist, who understood all these things. Open 
Thou mine eyes, that I may see the wondrous things of 
thy law! The letter of the law is the shadow of truth, 
and nothing more. Of this, some have been ignorant, 
w^hile the world allowed them the reputation of great 
learning; and this ignorance produced the monstrous 
proposition published amongst us of late years, that a 
revelation came to man from the living God, without 
life in it; which is so far from being an improvement in 
literature, or divinity, that it must be shocking to the 
ears of intelligent Christians; and being false and here- 
tical, stands condemned in the articles of the church of 
England. 

But now, lastly, give me leave to tell you, that the 
moral doctrine to be drawn from the words of the text, 
is a matter of great consideration; and I desire you will 
lay it up in your mind. God calls himself the God of 
Mraham, Isaac, and Jacob. This is the title he has 
chosen; his favourite memorial in all generations: but in 
this title he declares his relation to his friends and ser- 
vants, when they are dead. He is our support in life; 
and that is a blessing and an honour to us; but he de- 
lights rather to consider himself as our life in death; 
and as such, we ought to consider him daily. We are 
all solicitous to raise ourselves in the eyes of our neigh- 
bours, and to be reckoned among the higher orders of 
the living: whereas it should be our chief care to con- 
sider, with whom we shall be numbered when we are 
dead. Let, then, the vain and ambitious be striving to 
be in the class of the mighty, the wealthy, and the hon- 
ourable of this world, while they live; but let us rather 
provide that we may be numbered with Abraham, 
Isaac, and Jacob, when we are dead. Then will God be 
with us when wc are no longer with men; and we shall 



ns EXTRACT FROM A SKHMO>% &l, 

rest in the hope, that lie will soon fulfil the promises 
made to the holy patriarchs, our spiritual forefatliers, 
by raising us from the dead, and giving us a place in 
the heavenly city, which he hath prepared for them and 
for us, that they without m should not be nmde perfect. 



A BEHMON 

BY TEE LJITE REV. jT. BRFSDALE, B. B. F. R. S. 

One of the Ministers of Edinburgh, one of his Majesty's Chaplains, and 
Principal Clerk to the Church of Scotland. 

ON THE HOPE OF HEAVEN. 

But now thej desire a better country, that is, an heavenlj,— . 

Hebrews, xi. 16. 

When we take an attentive view of mankind^ and 
compare their nature with their present condition and 
character; when we consider the great capacity of the 
human soul^ and the high improvement of which it can 
admit, hoth in knowledge and virtue, and at the same 
time reflect, that this capacity cannot be tilled up, nor 
this improvement carried to perfection, in the present 
state; what can we conclude, but that there shall be an- 
other state where all that is wanting shall be made up, 
and the soul shall be improved to perfection, and ren- 
dered complete both in worth and in happiness? How 
far do the best characters amongst men fail short of that 
perfection which the soul aspires to, and seems to be 
intended for? We cannot easily conceive, therefore^ that 
God will cut oif the righteous in the midst of their pro- 
gress towards that great object, or stop their ascent to- 
wards himself. It seems probable, for the same reason 
that he originally created the soul of man, that he will 
preserve it to attain its proper end. 

The marks of wisdom, appear in all the works of 
God; and nothing can be more consonant to Avisdom, 
than to finish the works which it has designed; nor can 
we imagine any thing more contrary to wisdom, than 
to leave its purpose half executed, as if it had repent- 
ed, or, by mistake, formed an improper design at first. 
Death, therefore, w hich, at first sight, looks like an ex* 

17 



130 A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 

tinction of l)oth soul and body at once, we have reason 
to conclude to be no more than a change from one state 
of existence to another. But to remove all doubts, and 
to confirm this conclusion, our holy religion has brought 
to clear and certain light a future and immortal life, 
where the righteous shall be advanced to a higher de- 
gree of still growing dignity and happiness than can at 
present be either attained or conceived — even to all of 
which they are capable. This light, then, furnished by 
the Gospel, should enlarge our minds, elevate our af- 
fections above present things, and inspire us with the 
most ardent desire for that happy state which the Gos- 
pel has laid open to our hopes, — for that better country 
which is heavenly. 

This desire of heaven, which the happiness thereof 
naturally excites in us, tends directly to produce the 
best effects upon our affections and conduct, during our 
journey to so exalted a settlement. These effects of de- 
siring that better and heavenly country^ it is our present 
purpose to point out. But before we proceed to the con- 
sideration thereof, it is proper to premise one observa- 
tion, namely, that in order to reach heaven at last, it is 
by no means necessary that we should neglect or re- 
nounce the concerns of our present state. We are not 
to hide ourselves in a dark and sullen solitude, and 
lead an unsocial and monkish life, which is useless, at 
the same time that it may be deemed innocent. This 
world is, indeed, appointed to be our passage to hea- 
ven, but not at all to be an inactive passage. We are 
not to steal our way through it, nor to decline those dif- 
ficulties and dangers, by means of which, it is the will 
of God, that we should be prepared and ripened for 
future glory. To attempt this, would argue total igno- 
rance of the nature of heaven, and of the present state 
of man. 

We are to remember, that, however troublesome our 
circumstances may be, it is the will of God that we 
should conform to them; and he will never admit any 
to the rewards of heaven, who are not active in using 
the proper means of being qualified for such sublime 



A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDAI.E. 3 SI 

enjoyments. So glorious and inviting a prospect is 
surely worth contending for, and may well animate us 
with patience and resignation under all present trials. 
The very best reason that men can have for retiring 
from the world^ is, that they may avoid the temptations 
and difficulties every where to be met with: but with 
what countenance can those men address a prayer to 
the throne of grace, or expect to be admitted into the 
heavenly society, who, while they are on earth, are 
useless to the society of mankind, abstracting them- 
selves, as much as possible, from all correspondence 
with their brethren, and contributing nothing to their 
general welfare? What recommendation can such men 
carry, to obtain a welcome reception among the righte- 
ous and good above? Can they think it will be an ar- 
gument in their favour that they can say, " We have 
escaped from the temptations, and fled from the troubles 
of human life, but cannot indeed pretend that we have 
contributed to its happiness?'^ Would not this betray so 
base and self-interested a disposition as would render 
them unworthy of any well-ordered society on earth, 
and much more of that affectionate and blessed one in 
heaven? Instead, then, of flying from the world, to 
shun its troubles, we are, when duty calls, and oppor- 
tunity of doing good presents itself, to encounter them 
with resolution, and thereby promote the exercise of 
our patience. The trials of the present life are wisely 
ordered with a view to train up our minds for celestial 
happiness, to enable us to form a just judgment of. it, 
and to value it the more from comparing it with what 
we shall leave behind us upon earth. We ought, then, 
to occupy an active station in the world, as fer as our 
condition will admit, both for the sake of doing good 
to others, and also that we may receive from them as- 
sistance and mutual improvement, and may have it in 
our power to know experimentally the very small value 
and unsatisfying nature of earthly felicity. 

Those who think to pass towards heaven, unac- 
quainted with the changes, trials, and difliculties of this 
life, and without taking their fate in the world along 



132 A SERMON BY THE REV. DR* DRYSDAO:. 

with their fellow-passengers, or without concernlni^ 
themselves in their welfare, cannot be in a proper state 
for enjoying tlie happiness of heaven. If we consider 
the matter duly, we shall find that we have no good 
reason to be terrified or dispirited on account of the 
trials and hardships wiiich accompany our situation 
upon earth; for even in tJiese has God been pleased to 
manifest his goodness and regard to us. He thought it 
not proper to bestow heaven upon us at once, but has 
left us to choose it for ourselves, to choose it as the 
most inestimable of all blessings, indeed, as our only 
chief good; to choose it after having had experience of 
the emptiness of every present enjoyment. We must 
not, therefore, renounce the correspondence of this 
w^orld, nor desert that station which God has assigned 
us in it. At the same time we must always remember, 
that here ive have no continuing city; and we must keep 
that better country to which we are bound, continually 
in our eye, and as the object of our most earnest desire; 
which clesire will in every sincere Christian produce, 
and ought in all Christians to produce, the following 
happy effects: 

I. It tends to animate us to maintain a strict and 
watchful attention to ourselves, that we may not be 
misled or ensnared by any of the temptations which 
surround us. 

Tlie hope of arising to high degrees of greatness 
and felicity is evidently one of the most vigorous springs 
of human actions, and whose impulse rouses the mind 
to the greatest activity in the exercise of all its facul- 
ties. To have some one important plan in view, must 
surely have a mighty influence on the whole conduct of 
a man's life, even upon those circumstances of it, Avhich 
have but a remote connexion with the principle to 
which he is aspiring. Whenever any person comes to 
have one predominant wish which he seeks to gratify 
above every other thing, it exerts a visible efficacy on 
his whole character, determines him to conform all his 
behaviour to one view, and brings all his dispositions 
lender subordination to it, 






A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 133 

Thus those men in whom covetoiisness or ambition 
is the ruling principle^ generally make all their other 
desires subservient to that one^ and consistent with it; 
and are careful to avoid whatever may divert their at- 
tention, or tempt them aAvay to other views. In the 
same manner, the man whose desires and affections ter- 
minate on the happiness of heaven, it might justly be 
concluded, would act in a perfect consistency with so 
grand an expectation. Yet there is nothing more cer- 
tain, than that the children of this world are wiser than 
the children of light; that i.«, they show more judgment 
in order to acquire some temporal advantage, than 
the children of light do to obtain immortal glory. This 
is owing to the weakness of the desire of heaven. The 
happiness thereof lies beyond the reach of our senses, 
nor can it be completely understood by present expe- 
rience. Hence it is often found to have but a feeble 
and languid influence, in preserving the mind resolute 
and steady, amidst present temptations, which have a 
gi-eat advantage by being near at hand, and ever acting 
immediately on our senses. There is no man, if the 
question were put to him, who would not answer, that 
he wishes, nay, that he entertains hopes to be happy 
hereafter; but so obscure and indistinct are the con- 
ceptions which most men form of this future happiness, 
that they do not sink deep into their minds, so as to have 
any regular influence upon their conduct. They, and 
they only, who are animated by a lively principle of 
faith and love, can disengage themselves from tlie en- 
tanglements of present objects, and transport themselves 
to a near and familiar contemplation of the joys of im- 
mortality; they alone can best preserve uniform and 
steady resolutions of goodness in this world. He that 
hath tliis hope and desire strong within him, witli clear 
and lively impressions of it working upon his heart, 
will be ewer purifyin^^ himself as God is pure. 

It has indeed been observed, that he who acts aright, 
merely from the hope of reward, is not actuated by just 
and proper principles, but by interested and unworthy 
motives; and, no doubt, if the happiness of heaven con- 



1U A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 

sisted only in sensible entertainments and delights, the 
hope and desire of such happiness might engage men of 
corrupt minds to a course of life apparently good and 
virtuous, without having their hearts purified, or their 
selfishness in the least abated by it. But the hope and 
earnest desire of heaven, such as it is described by the 
Gospel, far from being a narrow or contracted principle, 
can spring up and flourish in no man but one of real 
goodness and generosity of heart. For what is the de- 
sire of heaven but the desire of increasing in goodness 
and resemblance to God? What can be a stronger evi- 
dence of inward purity, than to hope and seek for that 
inheritance which is perfectly pure and incorruptible? 
What can be a clearer demonstration of real goodness, 
than eagerly to aspire after an admission to the blessed 
society of the best of men now exalted to communion 
with God, who is himself the unspotted original of 
every tiling that is good, amiable, or excellent? The 
man who keeps this glorious prospect in his eye, must 
of consequence be habitually discovering and exerting, 
through the whole tenor of his life, those excellent 
principles which he knows are absolutely requisite to 
support his high expectations. As the height of his 
ambition is to be happy in the perfect exercise of virtue 
and goodness in the life to come, he will endeavour to 
render himself as happy as he can here, by cultivating 
such degrees of goodness as are attainable at present. 
As he desires to be a member of that society where he 
shall be absolutely free from the corruptions of sin, 
this must have a most powerful influence in preserving 
him on his guard against the temptations to which he 
is exposed in this lower world. It will produce a close 
and habitual and jealous attention to his own behaviour, 
and to those restless passions which incessantly solicit 
for indulgence. The everlasting weight of glory^ on 
which his desire is fixed, is a sufficient counterbalance 
to the vain desire of the light and empty enjoyments of 
this passing state. In a word, every pursuit of his life 
will be brought under dependance to his heart, will be 
suited and attempered to those pure and refined satis- 



A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 135 

factions which he hopes to enjoy in the regions of light 
and immortality. 

Secondly, — The real desire of the better country in 
heaven tends to inspire us with unaffected love and 
mercy to the whole human race, and to dispose us to 
the habitual exercise of these good affections. 

As heaven is a society, the members of which live 
in perfect harmony and union, we should endeavour to 
maintain the like conduct here, and live as becomes 
those who are one day to be citizens of the heavenly 
state. Vain and deceitful is the desire of that better 
state in heaven, which is not accompanied with a real 
relish for those exerciser of which its happiness shall 
in a great measure be composed. Love and charity 
abide forever; they furnish the high enjoyments of hea- 
ven: so that without possessing a strong taste for, and 
an ample portion of, these excellent affections, we can- 
not be qualified to share in these celestial enjoyments. 
Let us be ever moving forward towards them, careful 
to relieve, exhort, and encourage each other under all 
present difficulties. Would it look as if we were greatly 
bent to reach the heavenly country at last, if we should 
suffer ourselves to fall out for trifles by the way? Can 
any thing be more unseemly, than for a man who pre- 
tends to desire, above all things, the better coimtinf in 
heaven — that land of tranquillity, love, and peace — to 
be ready, on every slight provocation, to yield to the 
transports of anger and revenge; or even to indulge an 
indifference about the welfare of his brethren and fel- 
low-travellers? But let us, mindful of the great object 
of our desire, restrain ourselves when we feel the very 
first emotions of passion rising within us, by reflecting 
how unworthy it is for us to give way to them, — for us, 
who openly and avowedly aspire to be members of a 
state of perfect harmony and love! Let us consider 
with attention the shameful inconsistency of such con- 
duct; and how far wrong it would be for us to indulge 
in passions cruel or unkind. We know that God will 
interpret the love and regard we exercise towards our 
brethren as so much service done to himself. Verily, 



1S6 A SERMON 15Y I'HE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 

shall our blessed Saviour then dec\a.Ye, forasmuch as ye 
ham, done it to one of the least of these, ye have done it 
unto me.^ If we habitually exercise love and kind af- 
fection to all our brethren upon earth, Ave shall be joy- 
fully received by the inhabitants of the better country 
in heaven, as properly fitted for admission there, where 
nothing inhuman or unfriendly, nothing envious or 
malicious, nothing indifferent, selfish, or indelicate, can 
ever find a place. 

Thirdly, — The desire of future happiness tends to 
compose our minds to a generous indifference towards 
all the deceitful pleasures and satisfactions of the pre- 
sent state. It disposes us to regard them in an higher 
view than as the means of relieving and lightening the 
heaviness of our journey through this world. 

The world has been, \vith some propriety, compared 
to an inn, where we have to spend this darkness or night 
of life; and, since the time we liave to pass in it is but 
short and transient, it does not appear a matter of great 
moment, though we be not accommodated altogether 
according to our w ish. Can we be thought very earnest 
to arrive at last at the heavenly settlement, if we make 
a great bustle about the inconveniences of our journey? 
It might be expected that the greatness of the heavenly 
felicity would so engross cur attention as to make us 
comparatively above our situation here below. Having 
this future happiness in our eye, can w^e deem ourselves 
miserable for the w^ant of a little transient honour, or a 
little precarious power, during a few years upon earth, 
w^hen immortal honour and real dignity await us in 
heaven? Should it greatly disquiet us, that we lead an 
obscure and unmarked life here; or, that we are not 
borne through the world on the applauding reports of 
fame; when, in due time, we shall enjoy the approba- 
tion of God, and of the w ise and righteous citizens of 
heaven, the most worthy object of desire? The most ob- 
scure and contemned person among us, who may now 
be the sport of fortune, and disregarded by every one, 
on account of the meanness and poverty of his outward 

* Matthew, xxv. 40. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 1ST 

condition and appearance, — even this person may be 
singled out by the all- seeing eye of God, on account of 
the innocence and integrity of his life, and exalted to 
unfading glory in the end; while many of those who 
have dazzled the world by the splendour of their name, 
but, at the same time, made it unhappy by their ambi- 
tion, may be disregarded by God, and their name left to 
perish in everlasting darkness and oblivion. Should it 
grieve us that we do not flow in affluence, that we are 
not clad in purple, and fare not sumptuously every day? 
seeing these things, neither add much to the happiness 
of the present life, nor tend to prepare us for a better. 
How low must we be in the estimation of Almighty 
God, if we prefer the dross of earthly riches to that 
fullness of joy, those pure aud unfading pleasures of 
mind which flow for ever in his presence; or, if we think 
ourselves miserable for the want of that, which, com- 
pared with future bliss, is altogether vanity? In truth, 
what a poor temptation are riches and fame, the hon- 
ours and pleasures of this world, when fairly estimated, 
to seduce our hopes from the bright and unsullied glory 
of heaven? And yet, on account of these, how often have 
the comfort and harmony of private life been interrupt- 
ed, nay, entirely annihilated? How empty and unsatis- 
fying are all earthly delights in comparison of the bless- 
ed serenity which possesses that soul which can aspire 
beyond them, and raise its hopes to heaven! Let us then 
endeavour to alienate our minds and hearts from their 
too great attachment to these meaner pleasures. There 
are far more substantial, even divine entertainments, to 
animate our ambition and invite our search: even the 
distant hope thereof can effectually lift the righteous 
mind above tiiis world, and compose into a serene, un- 
troubled joy, — a joy unshaken by any of those tempests 
of passion that attend the vehement pursuit of worldly 
happiness; undisturbed by that envy, covetousness, and 
ambition, and that rage, malice, and revenge, which 
often distract the hearts of those who cannot obtain such 
a fading object; and free from that pride and arrogance 

18 



138 A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 

of spirit which are often the eifects of enjoying it to the 
full. While we have our conversation in heaven^ our 
thoughts will be insensibly and gradually disengaged 
from being too deeply interested in the vain commerce 
of the present life; and our minds put in a capacity of 
obtaining a present foretaste of the inexpressible enjoy- 
ments of the blessed above. 

Fourthly, — The earnest desire of heaven will dis- 
pose our minds to a ready compliance with the will of 
Divine Providence, and to a pious and becoming resig- 
nation under all the sufferings and calamities of tlie 
present state. 

A righteous man cannot give way to despondency, 
since he may hope, that in a little time all shall be well, 
and that he shall enter into the possession of everlast- 
ing felicity as the reward of his patience. In expecta- 
tion of this, he forgets the bitter sharpness of pain, and 
even rejoices in the midst of agony. It must yield in- 
expressible comfort to a good man, when oppressed 
with sickness and disease, to raise his thoughts to that 
happy state above, where he shall be released from this 
frail and corruptible body, and in its stead shall receive 
one, light and active, incorruptible and immortal as the 
soul itself, and shall enjoy an uninterrupted vigour 
through everlasting ages. If, at any time, sorrow seizes 
his heart for the loss of good and virtuous friends, who 
were deservedly the delight and comfort of his life, 
whose pleasing and useful conversation, and mutual 
benevolence, he might justly place among his highest 
enjoyments, let him consider that good and virtuous 
persons have no reason to indulge an obstinate melan- 
choly on account of the death of worthy friends like 
themselves; for this would give reason to suspect that 
such lasting sorrow did not proceed from a principle 
altogether right, but rather from a want of confidence 
in God. As there is ground to believe that these wor- 
thy friends have made a happy change, it is plainly un- 
reasonable to indulge an excessive sorrow on their ac- 
count, as if they were sufferers in extreme: and the loss 
which we ourselves sustain (which is certainly one of 



A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 159 

the greatest that mankind are liable to), may be borne 
with the greater firmness from the reflection, that they 
have stepped but a little before us, that our stay be- 
hind them will not be long, that the time is not far dis- 
tant, when they shall be restored to us again, more 
worthy of our esteem and affection than ever, and when 
there shall not be the least danger of any farther sepa- 
ration. 

Perhaps it may be our lot to meet with a great deal 
of bad usage at the hands of the unworthy; but this 
may be the more easily borne, when we look forward 
to that happy establishment that awaits us in heaven. 
By careful reflection indeed, we must be satisfied, that 
such men are far more the objects of our pity, than we 
are of their contempt. While we can entertain the hope 
of enjoying the favour of God in heaven, and are con- 
scious of possessing a degree of it here, we may well 
look down with indifference on the frowns of pride and 
the assaults of malice. While we are on a progress to 
an immortal inheritance in heaven, why should we suf- 
fer the tranquillity of our minds to be disturbed, and 
our passions irritated, by the clamours and reproaches 
of the wicked? — The same enlivening prospect will 
also most effectually support and encourage us, if we 
should ever be subject to the pressures of indigence and 
poverty. If we are good and virtuous, notwithstanding 
the outward meanness of our condition and appearance, 
we shall possess a certain eminence and nobility of 
spirit, which cannot fail of meeting with a suitable re- 
ward in the end. If all be well within, our outward 
condition is hardly worth the minding. We have no 
reason to suspect that God neglects us, because we are 
not placed in the midst of affluence. He never intended 
that such should be the reward of the righteous. A 
good man would be but poorly rewarded, were he to 
have only the means of living in affluence in a world 
like the present. God has infinitely greater things in 
reserve for his faithful servants. Besides an approving 
conscience, which is a continual feast to the soul, and 
of itself has considerable power to bear us up under 



140 A SERMON BY TJIE REV. DR. JJRYSDAI.K. 

the severest calamities, we have also an everlasting 
happiness in prospect, a bright reversion provided for 
us, in the better country in heaven, to which, in a short 
time, we shall find admission: and surely, for so short 
a time, we may be content to live any how. If we are 
happy in the issue, we have reason to think that we 
have made an easy conquest. We may be glad to com- 
pound for a little short-lived trouble here, when we 
have the well-grounded hope of complete blessedness, 
to crown our victory in the conflict. Let us remember, 
that, through many trials, God rears up his family to 
that blessedness; and there is no better recommenda- 
tion to his favour, than resignation and acquiescence 
under all liis dispensations. If we patiently endure this 
rough and wintry season of calamity, we are encouraged 
to expect, that, in the end, we shall be counted worthy 
of enjoying a purer and serener climate. While we bend 
our steps towards heaven, let us not repine at the hard- 
ships of the way, nor at the roughness of the passage. 
Here, dwell pain and danger, with their troublesome 
and numerous attendants; but there, sorrow and sighing 
shall fly away; all tears shall he wiped from our eyes, 
and joy spring up eternal in our souls. Here, we have 
to labour and watch, and to fight our spiritual enemies; 
there, triumph awaits us; and there, we shall reap and 
enjoy the fruit of all these labours. Here, the air is in- 
clement, and big with contagion; there, it shall be pure, 
serene, and salutary. Here, we are in a strange coun- 
try, absent from our native land; there, we shall find 
our proper home, and all our happiness; and thither 
our Saviour, and our best friends, have gone before us. 
These have shown us how to behave, while on our 
journey to join them. With what unconquerable spi- 
rit have numbers undertaken and executed distant 
journeys, despising the perils and fatigues to which 
they were exposed; and all, perhaps, for the sake of 
seeing a few curiosities, or of saying, after their return, 
that they had seen them. This serves to shoAV the great 
power of strong desire upon the heart and active facul- 
ties of man; and shall not the earnest desire and hope 



A SERMON BY THE KEY. DR. DRYSDALE. 141 

of heaven, the region of goodness, virtue, and spiritual 
liberty, the only true glory and happiness of man; shall 
not this inspire us with resolution and patience, amidst 
all the dangers and sufferings, through whicli we have 
to pass, and which are not to be compared with tI-3 
glory til at shall be revealed to us? 

Fifthly, — The hope of future happiness tends, most 
effectually, to arm our minds against the approach of 
death, and to extinguish all its terrors. 

To those who have not heaven in their eye, death 
must appear a frightful and desperate step, while no- 
thing but darkness lies beyond it. It is not possible for 
a thinking man to leave this world, without reluctance 
and dejection, unless he has endeavoured to secure an 
interest in a better state, and rendered that better state 
familiar to his thoughts. How formidable must death 
appear to the man, who, after a life spent in all the 
tumult and vanity of this world, and after being known 
to all around him, approaches his last moments, un- 
known to himself, uncertain whither he is going, and 
forced by the dreadful forebodings of conscience, either 
to plunge into the dismal prospect of not being at all, 
or of being for ever miserable! But, on the other hand, 
those who, being inspired with an ambition suited to 
their dignity as the sons of God, are habituated to raise 
their minds above this world, and stretch their view to 
the happy and unchangeable settlements of heaven- — 
those can look upon death in quite a different light, 
and welcome its rudest approaches with intrepidity, 
and even with cheerfulness. Let us then look forward 
to that joyful prospect, and behold the light of ever-^ 
lasting day dawning from afar; and then death, which 
appears so formidable, will assume a gentler aspect, 
disarmed of all its stings, and stript of all its terrors. 
While these high expectations possess our souls, the 
present world, with all its boasted enjoyments, will 
have little power to seduce us; and the period of our 
leaving them, will be considered as a deliverance from 
a state of vexation and calamity. Whatever we may 
fondly think of our present habitation, it is tlie kingdom 



142 A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. DRYSDALE. 

and residence of death, a state of ignorance, sin, and 
corruption. Hence, wliat we call death, may, to a good 
man, be more properly styled the beginning of life. For 
him, therefore, to be afraid of death, is to be afraid of a 
good thing, of being raised to a state of light and glad- 
ness, and of living in a rank suited to the dignity of his 
nature. Whoever can entertain the lively hope of his 
exaltation, will be ready to bless God that he was cre- 
ated mortal, — that he shall not be slmt up for ever in 
this narrow and uneasy confinement. He would not live 
here always; but he rejoices in the prospect of the day 
approaching, when his immortal spirit shall be fully 
enlarged from this darkness of ignorance, this subjec- 
tion to sin, and those oppressing calamities, under which 
it is at present so heavily weighed down. In order, then, 
to our obtaining such a greatness of soul as may effec- 
tually animate us against the fears of death, our desire 
of a better country in heaven must take full possession 
of our heart; and we must, by a patient continuing in 
well-doing aspire after glory ^ honour^ and immortality; 
and seek to resemble God in those perfections which 
shall be the subject of our endless praises and adoration, 
in heaven. 

Let us, therefore, pray to God, that he would im- 
press this blessed desire and hope upon our minds. 
Then, though we ivalk through the valley of the shadow 
of death, we shall fear no evil; for God shall be our con- 
ductor and deliverer: then shall we bid defiance to the 
fiercest assaults of our enemies; for we know, that though 
worms destroy this body, yet in our flesh shall we see 
God: this corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this 
mortal shall put on immortality. Let us then lay aside 
every weight, that we may, without wearying, run the 
race that is set before us, and in due time obtain the 
prize we so earnestly desire. 



A FUNERAL ORATION 

BY THE REVEREJVn P, DOBBRIDGE, 

As we advance from one stage to another in the 
journey of life, we grow still more familiarly acquainted 
with its various afflictions. And this is the constitution 
of a wise and gracious God, who is thus training us up 
for that world, where we shall be above the need of 
sorrow, and so for ever above the reach of it. In the 
mean time, our Heavenly Father doth not leave us com- 
fortless; and, blessed be his name, his consolations are 
not small. On the contrary, they are most important, 
as well as various, and so accommodated, both to the 
weight and to the variety of our distresses. 

We are now an assembly of mourners, gathered to- 
gether around the grave of a very worthy and excellent 
person. Some of us have lost one of the most affection- 
ate of parents; others, a wise, watchful, and diligent 
pastor; and all that knew him to any degree of intima- 
cy, so faithful and so tender a friend, that we must be 
strangely happy, if we find a great many like him, in 
this imperfect and impoverished world. But there are 
comforts in the word of God, suited exactly to such a 
case as this, and expressly designed to teacli us, that 
we should not sorrow as those wJio have no hope^ for the 
removal of such, as, like him, sleep in Jesus. God would 
have us cheered in such a touching circumstance; and 
that the comfort may be administered in the most pro- 
per and effectual manner, lie puts words into our mouth 
upon such an occasion, that we may not be at a loss, 
even when our own are swallowed up: many words, 
which have been through succeeding ages, ever since 
they were written, the joy of dying and surviving 
Christians, in whatever circumstances they might die 
or survive. And these consolations are, indeed, like 
some kinds of rich perfume, which retain their fra- 
grancy from one age to another; but with this glorious 



144 A FUNERAL ORATION 

difference, that whereas those cordial productions of na- 
ture gradually lose their sweetness, though by slow de- 
grees, these consolations ratlier grow more and more 
powerful, as the great o])jects of that hope which they 
administer, come nearer and nearer to us. 

Attend to them therefore, with faith, and you must, 
surely, if you are indeed Christians, attend with plea- 
sure. Let the most pained heart, though contracted 
with the most distinguished share of sorrow on this 
mournful occasion, open itself to these comforts; and 
let the dejected, weeping, overflowing eye, be raised to 
meet so glorious a prospect. For, I say, and testify to 
you, by the word of the Lord, as spoken to us by that 
illustrious apostle St. Paul, that the pious dead are not 
perished; but that, if we believe that Jesus died and rose 
again^ we have all imaginable reason to depend upon it, 
that such as sleep in Jesiis^ God will bring with him. 
For the Lord Jesus Chnst himself shall descend from 
heaven with a shout, icith the voice of the archangel, and 
with the trump of God; and the dead in Christ shall 
rise first. Then we also, i. e. those of us Christians, 
w^ho, in our different generations, are all one body, who 
remain alive, shall be caught up together icith them, to 
meet the Lord in the air; and so shall ice ever be with 
the Lord. Wherefore, comfort ye one another with these 
words. 

Lift up your beads, O ye mourning Christians! to 
survey more distinctly this delightful prospect. Lift 
them up with joy; for your redemption, and that of 
your now lamented friends, most assuredly draweth 
nigh. 

The grave is continually multiplying its triumphs; 
and Avith how many of its affecting trophies are we here 
surrounded! We die, by the righteous sentence of God 
against sin, against the first sin of the common founder 
of our race: But as by man came death, by man came 
also the resurrection of the dead; and as ice are bearing 
the image of the eartlily Adam, and shall, ere long, like 
him, return to the dust, tee shall also bear the image of 
the heavenlff. 



BY THE REV. P. DODDRIDGE. 145 

It does not, surely, seem an incredible thing to any 
of us, that God should raise the dead. And, it* it seem 
not incredible, it cannot possibly be thought inconsider- 
able: especially when we reflect on the glorious man- 
ner in which the resurrection of the just is to be accom- 
plished. Our Lord Jesus Christ will see to it, that it be 
done; yea, he will himself be present at it: it shall be 
done by his express care, command, and power. The 
Lord hlw self tv ill descend from heaven^ on this account, 
while all his celestial attendants shall shout forth their 
joys on the illustrious occasion. And the first thing which 
he does, upon that descent^ even before he ta,kes any 
visible and distinct notice of the saints then alive, will 
be, to call out of their graves, those that sleep in him: 
as if lie were impatient of that bondage in which their 
bodies had been detained, and at declared enmity 
against that destroyer. O death^ says he, with a majes- 
tic indignation, / will be thy plague/ Repentance shall 
be hid from mine eyes. I will not leave thee one of my 
servants to triumph over: however obscure in life, how 
long soever forgotten in the dust, I will redeem all my 
Israel, and not a hoof shall be left behind. And, oh! let 
us consider in what forms they shall appear: He icill 
change these vile bodies^ that they may be fashioned like 
unto his own glorious body, according to that mighty pow- 
er, whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself 
Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, 
Death is swallowed up in victory: not the least trace of it 
remaining in all the redeemed world: nothing by which. 
it could be known, tha^t any one of all the redeemed, 
the thousands and ten thousands of God's Israel, had 
ever been for one moment under its power. Glorious 
display of the royalty and magnificence of God's love 
to his people! that though it be not in itself absolutely 
necessary to their happiness; yet the meaner part of 
their nature shall be rescued from the abasements of the 
grave, and not only recovered, but beautified, invigo- 
rated, and adorned! 

Nor is this to be merely the triumph of one public 

19 



116 A FUNERAL ORATION 

and solemn day. It is added, as the crown of all, so 
shall ice ever be with the Lord! And let it be remem- 
bered, that it is said, not of the apostles alone, or of 
those, who, like our reverend father, whose remains we 
now attend, have borne sacred offices in the church, 
and honoured God in them by distinguished services; 
but it is said of every true believer, and was intended 
to include us, on whom the ends of the world are come, 
who are, so far as our character answers our Christian 
profession, as dear to Christ, as if we had lived seven- 
teen hundred years ago, and ministered to him, or to 
his apostles. And how much is implied in this? We 
shall be with Christ! Glorious hope, worth dying for! 
Who that indeed loves him, does not say in his heart, 
even now, with all these solemn ensigns of death be- 
fore his eyes, / desire to depart, and to be with Christ: 
And let the worms destroy this body, and let the tomb 
press it down; may but my enlarged spirit soar up to 
him, though corporeal delights and creature converse 
were to be known no more! But you Avill remember, 
we are to be with the Lord in our complete persons, 
and in one complete society too: and what is the crown 
of all, and affords, in a few words, if I may so speak, 
a kind of infinite delight, ice shall be for ever with him. 
Nothing shall ever separate us from him; nothing em- 
bitter, nothing interrupt, so much as for a moment, the 
pleasure of our endeared converse with him. And now 
I will appeal to yon, my dear friends, who are most 
painfully wounded by this sad stroke; and to whom all 
the tender names of father, and pastor, and friend, are 
grown sounds of sorrowful memorial, in proportion to 
the degree in which they w ere once delightful; yet I 
will appeal even to you, if these are not good and com- 
foiiable words, fit for an apostle to write, for God him- 
self to dictate to his mourning children. It appears, 
from what I have been saying, that it is well with our 
dear departed friends who sleep in Jesus: they are 
sealed up among God's treasures: they enter into peace^ 
they rest in their beds; and they shall rise from them in 
the morning of the resurrection, not like Lazarus, with 



BY THE REV. P. DODDRIDGE. 147 

his grave-clothes about him; but dressed in the robes of 
glory and immortality. And, if this were all that could 
be said with relation to them, were it not to sound rea- 
son, and a lively faith, much, were it not abundantly 
enough to vindicate the kindness of God's dispensa- 
tions towards them, though they might seem for a short 
moment, while they lie in the dust, as under his rebukes? 
Were it not enough to awaken our congratulations, ra- 
ther than our condolences? Yet, to increase the plea- 
sure with which we look after tliese beloved objects, 
now removed from our sight, we are farther told, and 
it is by no means to be forgotten, that even now, while 
absent from the hody^ they are, in an important sense 
and degree, present with the Lord; and so present, that 
their most intimate converse with him on earth, was, in 
comparison with this, but absence from him. It is then 
well with them indeed; and it shall be well with us too, 
if we are Christians; so soon, so certainly, so entirely 
well, that I wonder at the weakness of our minds, that 
they should be so much depressed with this short sepa- 
ration: for these very Scriptures assure us, we shall 
meet with them again; for they and we being with the 
Lord, we must be with each other. What a delightful 
thought is this! when we run over the long catalogue of 
excellent friends, which we rashly say we have lost, to 
think, each of us, I also shall be gathered to my peojjle; 
to those whom my heart still owns under that charac- 
ter, with an affection, which death could not cancel, 
nor these years of absence erase. Nature takes a fond 
kind of pleasure in the secret thought, that, with re- 
gard to some of them, our coffins shall, in a little time, 
stand by theirs, and our dust be mingled in the same 
grave. Poor trifling comfort! as if dust could tell where 
it was, and with what it was mingled. But the Gospel 
assures us, that if we be followers of them wlio through 
faith and patience do now inherit the promises^ our spi- 
rits shall, ere long, join with theirs, in the services and 
pleasures of the heavenly world. And how far will this 
be beyond all that pleasure, with which on earth we 
have taken sweet counsel together, and gone to the house 



148 A TUNERAL ORATION, &c. 

of God in company! And it also assures us, tliat^ at last, 
we who have taken our parts in the sad procession of 
mourners, that conveyed them to this house of darkness 
and silence, if we indeed believe in Him who is the re- 
surrection and the life, shall also have our place in that 
bright procession, in which Christ shall lead them on 
to the gates of glory, in that day, when he will say, 
in a yet more important sense than he did in the day of 
his agony, and with his expiring breath, " It is Jinish- 
ed — the purposes of my dying love are completely accom- 
plishedy and my people are what I always intended they 
should at last he, and always rejoiced in the views of 
making them,^^ 

Only let us all suffer the word of exhortation, and 
make it our care, that, seeing we look for such things, 
we receive Christ Jesus the Lord, and walk in him. It 
is a terrible, but most certain truth, that there are 
many, who wear the name of Christ now, whom he 
will at last disown, and will say to them, Depart from 
me, I know you not whence you are. It is most cer- 
tain, we must be united to Christ by faith, now, and 
conformed to him in true holiness, or we shall have no 
part or lot in this matter. Let us, therefore, gird up the 
loins of our mind, let us renew our resolution and our 
watchfulness, and so hope to the end, for the grace that 
shall he brought unto us at the revelation of our Lord 
Jesus Chnst, when he shall administer to all his faith- 
ful servants an abundant entrance into his heavenly 
kingdom. Amen. 



EXTRACT FROM 

THE CHMSTIAN's DEFENCE 

AGAINST THE FEARS OF DEATH, 

Written by the late Reverend Divine of the Protestant 
Church of Paris, 

CIMRLES DRELLrCOURT. 
ChaD. xxiv. Twelfth Consolation- 

Some inquire wlietlier we shall know one another in 
this state of eternal glory and happiness; I niean^ whe- 
ther the subject shall know his prince and king; whe- 
ther the sheep shall know their pastor, and the pastor 
his sheep; whether the father shall know his son, and 
the son the father, the husband his wife, and the wife 
her husband, and so forth? 

Though this question is of the number of such as 
are more curious than needful to be known; neverthe- 
less, an answer seems to carry with it some kind of 
comfort and satisfaction. I should judge, that this trea- 
tise would not be perfect, if I did not say something on 
this noble subject; but what I shall say, shall be with 
the same moderation and reservedness, as I have ex- 
pressed in answering to the former questions; for al-^ 
thougli what I shall say, seems to me very plain, and 
without difficulty, others may have a different opinion, 
without any prejudice to their salvation. However, I 
may affirm, for an infallible truth, that the glory of 
heaven, as well as grace, shall bring nature to perfec- 
tion, but shall not destroy it. It shall add to it other ex- 
cellencies, but it shall not take away those that it hath 
already. It shall not abolish any of the faculties, but 
it shall beautify and enrich them with new ornaments. 
Therefore, consequently, it shall not take away our 






150 EXTRACT FROM 

memory, whicli is one of the rarest gifts and abilities, 
of the reasonable soul. 

I confess that it is said, that the former things shall 
he remembered no more^ and that they shall come no more 
into our mind: but this is to be understood of the evils 
and calamities of this present life; and we are not to 
understand the words so, that we shall totally forget 
all the former evils and miseries, and shall not remem- 
ber to have suffered them. St. John saith the conti'ary, 
when he represents the angel opening the fifth seal; that 
he saw under the golden altar, which was before the 
throne of God, the souls of them who had been mar- 
tyred for the word of God and for the testimony of the 
truth, crying out, with a loud voice. How long, O Lord^ 
holy and true, dost thou not judge and revenge our blood 
upon the inhabitants of the earth? I confess, these words 
may be understood in a figurative sense, as Avhen God 
saith to Cain, The voice of thy brother's blood cries from 
the earth unto me; and as St. Paul saith, that the blood 
of Jesus Christ speaketh better things than the blood of 
Abel, However, from hence we may conclude, that the 
remembrance of the calamities and persecutions which 
we have endured in this life, is not inconsistent with 
happiness. This remembrance is so far from prejudic- 
ing our felicity, that, on the contrary, it shall increase 
and enlarge it, and cause us to relish it the more. When 
the prophet saith, that the former things shall be remem- 
bered no mat^e, and they shall never come upon the mind^ 
he untlerstands that the former evils shall never be felt, 
and that we shall be for ever sheltered from all miseries 
and misfortunes. 

I cannot express this by a nobler and more proper 
example, than that of Joseph; when he went out of pri- 
son to take the government of Egypt, and had strength- 
ened himself by a rich alliance in marriage, he named 
his eldest son Manasseh, which signifies, ^r^e/fwZ^iess, 
or forgetful; for he said, God hath made me forget all 
wy labour, and my fathers house; although this holy 
man had not altogether forgotten those things; for he 
knew afterwards his brethren, and told them of the 



THE REV. CHARLES DRELINCOURT. 151 

mischief which they had intended against him, and 
which God had turned to good: but he spake in this 
manner, because God had changed his misery and im- 
prisonment into glory and honour. In this sense we are 
to understand these words, The former things shall he 
remembered no more; because, instead of the evils and 
miseries which we endure here below, we shall enter 
into an eternal glory and happiness. 

The prophet expounds himself sufficiently in the 
next words; for when he had said, The former things 
shall not be remembered^ nor come into mindj he adds, 
immediately after. Be glad and rejoice in that which I 
create. The Holy Ghost confirms us in this interpreta- 
tion in another place, in these words: All tears shall be 
wiped off from our eyes; there shall be no more sorrow^ 
nor cryingf nor pain; but eternal joy and gladness shall 
be upon our heads. 

Since God intends not to destroy those gifts and abi- 
lities, which he had bestowed upon us in this life, much 
less shall he abolish our knowledge, which is one of the 
brightest beams of glory. This knowledge shall be so 
far/rom diminishing or decaying, that it shall then in- 
crease more and more; until it comes to the highest per- 
fection. As the air loseth nothing of its twilight at break 
of day, when the sun riseth over our heads, but it ra- 
ther loseth all obscurity and darkness, which the pre- 
sence of the sun draws away, until it be perfectly en- 
lightened; likewise our understanding shall lose nothing 
of that liglit and perfection which it receives now from 
the breaking of the day of God's grace; but as the Sun 
of Righteousness riseth upon it more and more in joy 
and salvation, it shall perfectly lose all darkness and 
ignorance by degrees, until it be fully enlightened. From 
hence we may probably conclude, that we shall know 
all the persons in heaven, whom we have known here 
on earth. For if the glorified shall remember the wick- 
ed, who have tormented them, they must needs remem- 
ber all believers, who have bestowed on them their alms, 
and done them good. If it were otherwise, the apostle 
St. Paul would not tell the Corinthians, We are your 



152 KXrUACT FROM 

glcn^y, as also you are ours, at the day of the Lord Jesus; 
and he would not write tlius to tlie Tliessalonians; What 
is our hope, joy, and our crown of glory? Is it not you 
before the Lord Jesus Christ at his coming? Verily, you 
are our glory and our joy. Now, if in tlie state of glory 
St. Paul should not know the Corinthians and Thes- 
salonians, unto wliom he had preached the Gospel, how 
shall they be his joy, his glory, and* his crown, at tiie 
coming of the Lord Jesus? This reasoning seems to me 
as clear as the sun. Nevertheless, I cannot affirm, that 
in heaven we shall know again them whom we have 
known upon earth, by the features of their counte- 
nance; for there sliall be a wonderful alteration. The 
faces of all the saints shall be so beautiful, so perfect, 
and full of light and glory, that the most knowing shall 
not be able to judge them to be the same whom we have 
seen upon earth. Some, therefore, fancy that we shall 
know one another by the assistance of our discourse; 
but our voice shall then be changed as well as our coun- 
tenance; and it is doubtful Vv'hether we shall discourse 
of the former things whicli happened on earth; for our 
chief employment shall be to behold God's face, and 
to sing fortli his praises. I had rather, therefore, affirm, 
that we shall know one another by an infused know- 
ledge, by which we shall know all things which are 
possible to be known, and by the light of that glory 
with which God shall fill our souls. In short, this 
knowledge shall proceed from no other principle than 
that of all the knowledge with which we shall be 
crowned in that state of glory and perfection. 

I am, therefore, more than fully persuaded, that we 
shall knoAV in heaven our parents and our friends, and 
generally all the persons whom vre have known here 
below: but we shall also perfectly know them whom 
we never knew^ in the world, and never saw with tlie 
eyes of the ilesh: and though we shall know in heaven 
all the persons whom we have known on earth, we 
shall look upon them in another manner, and love them 
with another affection; for all that we have of the ani- 
mal and earthly life shall be totally abolished: and, as 



THE R?:V. CHARLES DRELIN COURT. 15S 

our knowledge shall ]be clear and certain, our love shall 
be pure and heavenly. 

The Sadducees, who say there is no resurrection, 
came to Christ to entangle him with this difficult ques- 
tion, Master^ Moses said, if a man die having no chil- 
dren, Ms brother shall marry his wife, and raise seed 
unto his brother. JV'ow, there ivere with us seven breth- 
ren; the first, when he had married a wife, deceased; 
and having no issue, left his wife unto his brethren; 
likewise the second also, and the third, unto the seventh; 
and, last of all, the woman died also; therefore, in the 
resurrection, whose wife shall she be of the seven? for 
they all had her. 

Our Saviour answers not, that this woman shall be- 
long to none of those husbands, because they shall not 
know her, nor distinguish her from other women; but 
he replies to them. Ye do err, not knowing the Scrijj- 
tures, nor the power of God; for in the resurrection 
they neither marry ^ nor are given in marriage; but are 
as the angels of God in heaven. From hence we may 
conclude, that although in heaven we shall know one 
another, we shall have nothing of that carnal love, 
which we have at present, and which causeth us to 
put so much difference between one person and ano- 
ther. 

If you think seriously upon tliis. Christians, you 
shall find arguments to answer the vain objections of 
such as say, that if we come to the knowledge of one 
another in heaven, that will be able to disturb us of 
our satisfaction; for as it is a comfort and joy to meet 
there with our parents and friends, in like manner, it 
will be a trouble and affliction, not to find there all those 
whom we have formerly loved. We may form, and 
retort, the same objection, with more reason, against 
those who believe that we shall not know one another 
in heaven; for Ave may say, also, that not knowing the 
persons, we shall not know whether our parents, or 
our friends, are there; and this is likely to disturb the 

20 



154 EXTRACT FROM 

quiet and satisfaction of our minds; but to argue ia 
this gross manner, is to confound heaven with the earth. 
Grief and displeasure can never be admitted in a pa- 
radise of joy and perfect happiness. In this glorious 
condition, our knowledge shall be so clear, our charity 
so pure, our love to God so fervent, that, as we shall 
love all things which God shall love, and where his 
image shall appear; so, it shall not be possible for us 
to love them whom God shall hate, them who shall 
bear the marks and characters of the devil. 



DISSERTATION 

BV RICHARD PRICE, D. D. F. R. S, 

On the Reasons for expecting that Virtuous Men shall meet 
after Death in a state of Happiness. 

No person, wlio ever makes any serious reflections, 
can avoid wishing earnestly to be satisfied whether 
tliere is a future state: and, if there is, what expectations 
he ought to entertain with respect to it, and by Avhat 
means his happiness in it must be secured? There are 
many arguments whicli lead us to conclude, in answer 
to the first of these questions, that we are indeed de- 
signed for another state. And there are also many which 
at the same time prove, that the practice of virtue must 
be our best security in all events, and the most likely 
method to secure happiness through e^^ery possible fu- 
ture period of our duration. True goodness is the im- 
age of the Deity in our souls; and it is not conceivable 
that it should not recommend us to his particular re- 
gard, or that those who practise it should not be always 
safest and happiest. On the supposition of a future 
world, nothing offers itself more unavoidably to our 
thoughts, than the notion that it will be a state in which 
present inequalities will be set right, and a suitable dis- 
tinction made between good and bad men. It must, 
however, be owned, that this subject, as it appears to 
the eye of unassisted reason, is involved in much dark- 
ness. That in the future state all men shall receive an 
adequate retribution^ we may in general know; but, had 
we nothing to guide us besides natural light, we could 
not go further on any sure grounds, or give a satisfactory 
reply to several very interesting inquiries. The consi- 
deration, particularly of ourselves as gidlty creatures^ 
M'ould raise doubts in our minds; and these doubts 
would not be lessened but increased by reflecting, that, 



156 DISSERTATION BY 

under the divine government^ happiness is connected 
•with virtue, and punishment Avith vice. The fact, that 
virtue will he rewarded, does not by any means de- 
termine what such virtue as ours may expect. The vir- 
tuous among mankind are to be considered as jjenitent 
dinners; and what peculiar treatment the cases of such 
may require, or how far repentance might avail to break 
the connexion established by the divine laws between 
sin and misery, would not, 1 think, be clear to us. Here 
then the aid of the Christian revelation comes in most 
seasonably, and gives us the most agreeable informa- 
tion. It furnishes us with a certain proof from fact of 
a future state, and shows to our senses the path of life 
in the resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ. It as- 
sures us that repentance will be available to our com- 
plete salvation, and that all virtuous men shall be re- 
warded with a blessed and glorious immortality. At the 
same time, it teaches us to consider this as the eflPect, 
not of the ordinary laws of the divine government, but 
of a particular interposition in our favour, and a love 
to man in Jesus Christ, ^^hlch jJasses knowledge. 

But it is not my present purpose to insist on these 
things. The reality of a future state, as it is discovera- 
ble by reason, and as it has been confirmed and ex- 
plained by the Christian revelation, must be now taken 
for granted. The design of this discourse is only to of- 
fer a few thoughts on one particular question relating to 
it, which, though not of the highest, is yet of some con- 
sequence. I mean the question, '^ how far we have rea- 
son to expect, that we shall hereafter be restored to an 
acquaintance with one another, or again see and know 
one another.'^ 

There are probably but few w^ho have felt what it is 
to be deprived by death of persons they loved, whose 
thoughts have not been a good deal employed on this 
point. What, on such occasions, we must desire chiefly 
to know^, is, that our friends are happy; but it is una- 
voidable to inquire further concerning them with some 
anxiety, whether we are likely ever to see them again. 
It would be dismal to think of a departed frientl or re- 



THE REV. DR. R. PRICE. 157 

lative^ that " he is gone from us for ever^ that he exists 
no more to us." But virtuous men have no reason for 
any such apprehensions: and one of the unspeakable 
comforts attending; the behef of a future state arises 
from the hope it gives of having our friendships perpe- 
tuated, and being reunited in happier regions to those 
whom we have loved and honoured here. I am well sa- 
tisfied that this is a very rational hope; and in order to 
show that it is so, I shall beg leave to offer the follow- 
ing observations. Let it be considered, first, what effect 
our future recollection of those who are now dear to us 
is likely to have upon us. We liave great reason to be- 
lieve, that all the scenes of this life mil, in the future 
life, be presented to our memories, and that we shall then 
recover the greatest part, if not the whole, of our present 
consciousness. The scriptures teach us this in a very 
stiiking manner. It is not therefore to be doubted, but 
that ^\ e shall hereafter have a distinct remembrance of 
our vu'iuous friends and kindred: and this remembrance, 
one would tliink, must be attended with some revival of 
particular regard, and have a tendency to draw us to one 
another as far as it will be possible or proper. It mil, I 
know, be objected to tliis, that our attachments to relations 
and friends are derived from instincts which have been 
planted in us to carry on the purposes of the present 
state, and which must cease entirely hereafter. Tliis is, 
undoubtedly, in some degree, true. Every mstinctive de- 
termination, wliicli respects only the exigencies of the 
present life, will cease vAili it. But does it follow from 
hence, that we are likely hereafter to be left as indiffe- 
rent to those who are now our relations and friends, as 
if we had never known them? This would be a very 
wrong conclusion. The natures of things render it 
scarcely conceivable that the recollection of those va- 
luable persons witli whom we now have connexions (of 
valuable parents, for example, who had the care of us 
in our first years, and liave brought us up to virtue and 
happiness), should not, in every future period of our 
duration, endear their memory to us, and give us a par- 
ticular prpference of them, and inclination to seek their 



158 DISSERTATION BY 

society. Many of the distinctions, which Me make in 
our regards between some and others, are derived from 
reason and necessity; and this seems to he tlie case in 
the present instance. We are, pcrliaps, apt sometimes to 
caiTy our notions too far of the difference between what 
we now are, and what we shall be in the next stage of 
our being. It would be absurd to suppose that we shall 
hereafter want all particular desires and propensities. 
Benevolence, curiosity, self-love, the desire of honour, 
and most of our more noble and generous aff*ections, 
will not decrease, but grow as the perfection of our in- 
tellectual nature grows: and even our present social in- 
stincts may leave effects on our tempers which may pro- 
duce an everlasting union of souls, and lay the foun- 
dation of sentiments and desires which shall never be 
lost. 

But these observations, I am sensible, are not di- 
rectly to the present purpose. What affords the plainest 
evidence on this subject is the following consideration. 
There is great reason to believe that virtuous men, as 
beings of the same species, who have begun existence 
in the same circumstances, and been trained up to vir- 
tue in the same state of trial and discipline, will be 
hereafter placed in the same common mansions of feli- 
city. It is groundless and unnatural to imagine, that, 
after passing through this life, they will be removed to 
different worlds, or scattered into different regions of 
the universe. The language of the Scriptures seems 
plainly and expressly to determine the contrary. They 
acquaint us, that mankind are to be raised from the 
dead together, and to be judged together; and that the 
righteous, after the general resurrection and judgment, 
are to be taken together to the same heavenly state, 
there to live and reign with Christ, and to share in his 
dignity and happiness. When, in the Epistle to the 
Hebrews (chap. xii. 22, 23, 24,) we are said, in conse- 
quence of the clear discoveries made by the Gospel of 
a future state, to be, as it were, already come to the 
city of the living God^ to an innumerable company of 
angels, to the general assembly and church of the first 



THE HEV. DR. R. PRICE. 159 

born, and to the spirits of just men made perfect; it is 
plainly implied, that we are to join the general assem- 
bly of just men and of angels in the realms of light, 
and to be fixed in the same mansions with them. 

The state of future reward is frequently, in the New 
Testament, described under the notion of a city, that is, 
a community or society. It is likewise very often called 
a kingdom; the kingdom of God, and the everlasting 
kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. The 
great end of Christ's coming into the world was to lay 
the foundation of this kingdom, by saving men from 
the effects of guilt, delivering them from death, and 
uniting the virtuous part of them under one perfect and 
everlasting government in the heavens » It is said of the 
true disciples of Christ, tliat, because he lives, they shall 
live also; that they shall hereafter appear with him in 
glory: that he is now entered for them into heaven as 
their forerunner; that he is there preparing a place for 
them, and that he will soon come again to take them to 
himself that where he is, there they may he also, behold- 
ing his glory. This account is utterly inconsistent with 
the supposition, that those who shall partake of the fu- 
ture reward of virtue are to be dispersed into different 
parts of the universe, and scarcely leaves us any room 
to doubt on the present question. For, is it possible 
that we should be happy hereafter in the same seats of 
joy, under the same perfect government, and as mem- 
bers of the same heavenly society, and yet remain 
strangers to one another? Shall we be together with 
Christ, and yet not with one another? or shall we lose 
one another in that midtitude which cannot be numbered^ 
of those who have been rescued by him from destruc- 
tion, and who will follow him to his everlasting king- 
dom? Being in the same happy state Avith our present 
virtuous friends and relatives, will they not be accessi- 
ble to us, and, if accessible, shall we not fly to them, and 
mingle hearts and souls again? I am very sensible that a 
great deal of what the Scriptures say of the future state 
is accommodated to our present imperfect ideas, and must 
not be understood too literally. But if, in the present 



160 DISSERTATION BY 

instance^ it means any thing, it must mean as much as 
implies what 1 am pleading for. 

In order to give some further evidence on tliis point, 
it will not be amiss to desire, that the following passages 
of Scripture, may be attended to. The Thessalonians, a 
little before St. Paul wrote his first epistle to them, had, 
it seems, lost some of tlieir friends by death. In these 
circumstances, he exhorts tliem not to sorrow like others 
who had no liope, because tliey might conclude certainly, 
from the death and resurrection of Jesus Cluist, that those 
who had slept in him^ God would hereafter bring ivith 
him. He tells them hij the word of the Lord^ or, as from 
immediate revelation, that a period was coming when 
Christ would descend from heaven with a shout, with the 
voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God; and 
when the friends they had lost should be raised from the 
dead, and, together with themselves, should be caught 
up to meet the Lord in the air, and to live for ever with 
him. 1 Thess. iv. 13, 14, &c. But what I have in view 
is more distinctly asserted in the second chapter of this 
epistle, verse 19. For what is our hope, our joy, our 
crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of 
our Lord Jesus at his coming? It is most plainly im- 
plied in these words, that the apostle expected to see 
and know again his Thessalonian converts at Christ's 
second coming. The same remark may be made on his 
words in 2 Cor. iv. 14: Knowing that He which raised 
up the Lord Jesus, shall raise us up also by Jesus, 
and present us with you. And also in 2 Cor. i. 14: As 
you have acknowledged us in paii, that we are your re- 
joicing, even so ye also are ours in the day of the Lord 
Jesus, 

Having made these observations to show, that we 
may with reason entertain the expectation of joining one 
another hereafter; I shall now beg leave to give myself 
free scope in imagining and representing the happiness 
with which it will be attended. It is scarcely possible 
for any person not to look upon this as one most agree- 
able circumstance in the future state of felicity. It has 
a tendency to render the contemplation of another world 



THE REV. DR. R. PRICE. 161 

much more delightful. The hope of it rises up unavoid- 
ably in our minds, and has generally, if not always,^ 
accompanied tlie belief of a future existence. Nor does 
there appear the least reason why we should hesitate 
here a moment, or refuse falling in readily with the na- 
tural and common apprehensions of mankind. Without 
dwelling, therefore, any longer on the evidence for this 
point, let us recollect some of the particular circum- 
stances which will contrihute towards rendering the fu- 
ture junction of virtuous men joyful. 

One of these circumstances will be the remembrance 
of their present connexions witli one another. For men 
to meet wer?, in tlie heavenly society; for beings to join 
one another hereafter, wlio have begun their existence 
on the same planet, felt the same fears, and undergone 
the same discipline, must be the cause of pleasure. What 
then will it be fov friends to meQtfneiids, and kindred 
to meet kindredP What will it be, after obtaining a com- 
plete conquest over death, to be restored to those, who 
are now dear to us as our own souls, and to whose ex- 
ample and instructions we are, perhaps, indebted for the 
highest blessings? With what delight will the pious 
parent meet his children, the husband the Avife, and the 
master his family? How will many good men, now of 
opposite sentiments, rejoice to see one another in bliss^ 
and to find those errors corrected, and those silly pre- 
judices removed, which here keep them at a distance 
from one another? How will the faithful clergyman re- 
joice with those of his fiock, who have profited by his 
labours, and Avhom he has been the means of reclaiming 
from vice, or improving in goodness? What congratula- 
tions, and mutual welcomings, may we suppose, will then 
take place, between all virtuous friends? How agreea- 
ble will it be, to review together the conversations which 

* O pr?eclarum diem, cum ad illud divinum animorum conci- 
lium cfetumque proficiscar; cumque ex hac turba et coUuvione 
discedam! Proficiscar enim noii ad eos solum viros de quibus an- 
te dixi, sed etiam ad Catonem meum, quo nemo vir melior na- 
tus est, nemo pietate prsestautior, &c. Cicer. de Senectute. 

21 



162 DISSERTATION KY 

they have had with one another in this state of dark- 
ness^ and to recollect and compare the scenes they now 
pass through, the doubts that now perplex them, the 
different parts they noAv act, and the different tempta- 
tions and trials witli which they struggle? Are such 
views and reflections all visionary? Surely they are 
not. If there is, indeed, to be that future junction of the 
worthy among mankind, which I have pleaded for, 
they are sufficiently warranted, and must offer them- 
selves to every considerate mind. 

Another circumstance, which will contribute to the 
joy we shall have in meeting one another hereafter, will 
be our reflection on the common danger we shall have 
escaped. We are told, in the plainest terms, by the 
mouth of divine wisdom, that all who do wickedly, 
shall be doomed to that everlasting jire^^ which was 

* Matthew, xxv. 41. — T/ien shall he say to them on the left 
hand^ Depart from me ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared 
for the devil and his angels. It has been observed as remarkable, 
in the passage from which these words are taken, that, whereas 
the kingdom into which the righteous are to be advanced, is said 
to have been prepared for them, from before the foundation of 
the worlds the everlasting fire, on the contrary, into which the 
wicked are to be consigned, is said to have been prepared, not 
for them, but for the devil and his angels. This seems to intimate 
to us, that the devil and his angels were the first transgressors, 
who have been the means of involving mankind in guilt and dis- 
tress. I cannot forbear adding, with respect to the representa- 
tion which the Scriptures often make of the future state of 
punishment, as an unquenchable and everlasting fire, into which 
the wicked are to be cast; that, probably, the reasons of it may 
be — First, The propriety of an inextinguishable fire, which con- 
sumes whatever is thrown into it, to represent, in a manner 
striking to the imagination, the future everlasting rejection and 
extermination of all that work iniquity. — Secondly, Learned men 
have observed, that there is in this representation, an allusion 
to the continual fires in the valley of Hinnom, near Jerusalem, 
where, in idolatrous times, innumerable children had been burnt 
alive to Moloch; and where, in the times of our Saviour, there 
was a fire always burning, to consume the filth of the city, and 
the carcasses of animals. This valley was considered by the 
Jews, for this reason, as a place so unclean and horrible, that it 
was natural to make use of it as an emblem of the state of future 
punishment. It is well known, that the original words rendered 



THE REV. DR. R. PRICE. 163 

prepared for the devil and his angels; and that broad 
is the way, and wide the gate, that leadeth to destruc- 
tion; and that many there be who go in thereat. Every 
person, therefore, who shall hereafter attain to happi- 
ness, will be one escaped from great danger. And can 
it be imagined, that the remembrance of this will have 
no tendency to enhance the satisfaction attending the 
future junction of good men? Will it not be agreeable 
to see, that, amidst the dismal wreck, our friends have 
been preserved; and that they are safe landed, after 
being tossed on the sea of this world, and running num- 
berless risks of being cast away? Will it not give us 
the highest pleasure to meet among tlie blessed, those 
persons for whom, perhaps, we have often sighed and 
trembled; or to find, that, instead of being numbered 
among the lost and miserable, our earnest wishes for 
them have been answered, that they have acquitted 
themselves well in life, and chosen that good jpa)% ivhicli 
will never he taken from them? 

Thirdly, It may be proper, on this occasion, to 4;hink 
of the place where we shall hereafter join our virtuous 
friends. We shall meet them in the realms of light; in 
that dty* which hath foundations ^ whose builder and ma- 
ker is God; in the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and 
Saviour Jesus Christ, We shall see them again in those 
new heavens f and that neuj earth^'f wherein dicelleth righ- 
teousness, into ichich, nothing that defileth, or that lovetJi 
or maketh a lie, shall he admitted^X where all tears will 
he wiped away from our eyes, and pain, and death, and 
sorrow, shall he known no more;^ where God will show 
us his most glorious face, and order, peace, and love^ 
reign in full perfection for ever. 



by the translators of the New Testament, hell-fire^ are the fire 
of Gehenna, or the fire of the valley of Hinnom. It was, there- 
fore, from this valley, that the regions of punishment came to 
be called by the ancient Jev/s Gehenna, the sign or emblem be** 
ing made to stand for that which it was supposed to resemble^ 

* Heb. X. 10. i Rev. xxi. 27. 

X 2 Peter, iii. 13. § Rev. xxi. 4. 



164 DLSSERTATIOX BY 

But one of the particulars, that most requires our 
notice here, is, that our friends will then have lost their 
present weaknesses; they will not then he such frail 
and helpless heings as we now see them. They will not 
be liable to be ensnared by temptations, or ruffled by 
unreasonaWe passions. They will not be hasty in their 
judgments, capricious in their tempers, or narrow in 
their opinions. Every wrong bias will be taken from 
their wills, and tlie imperfections, which now render 
them less amiable, will be removed. Our hearts shall 
never more ache for their trouhles, or feel anguish on 
their account. They will be past all storms, cured of 
all follies, and eased of all pains. They will appear in 
finished dignity and honour, after the education and 
discipline of this world, and be endowed with every 
excellence which we can wish them to have. What 
pleasure will it give to meet them in these circum- 
stances? How delightful will be our intercourse wdth 
them, when they, together Avith ourselves, shall be thus 
changed and improved? 

Once more. In the future world, there will be no 
such painful separations from our friends, as we now 
suffer. It can scarcely be said, that we have, in this 
life, more than just time enough to begin friendships, 
and to feel the pangs of sorrow that attend the dissolu- 
tion of them. But, in the Heavenly State, we shall feel 
no sorrows of this kind. Our friends will be immortal. 
Our happiness in them will be liable to no abatements 
from the sad apprehension of being soon parted from 
them, and seeing them sink under decay and sickness. 
We shall never be witnesses to any such shocking 
scenes as their expiring agonies. The cruel hand of 
death will not be able there to reach them, and to tear 
them from our embraces.* They will flourish in eternal 

* Who would not (sajs Socrates, in his Apology) part with a 
great deal to purchase a meeting with Orpheus, Hesiod, Homer, 
&c..^ If it be true that this is to be the consequence of death, I 
would even be glad to die often. What pleasure will it give, to 
live with Palamedes and others, who suftered unjustly, and to 
compare mj fate Vv ith theirs.'^ What an inconceivable happiness 



THE REV. DR. R. PRIC E. 165 

health and vigour, and be with lis for ever with the Lord. 
Such are the circumstances that, we may imagine, will 
contribute to the joy attending the future junction of 
virtuous men in the heavenly state. I cannot help add- 
ing the following reflections. 

First, — What I have been saying, has a tendency to 
increase our satisfaction in our friends. The prospect, 
in general, of a future state, must have a most friendly 
influence on our present enjoyments. What, indeed, is 
human life without such a prospect? What darkness 
rests upon it; when we consider it as no more than a 
passing shadow, which ajfpeareth for a little while, and 
then vanisheth away; or as a short period of tumultuous 
bustle and uncertain happiness, diminished by many 
vexations, with an infinite blank before and behind it? 
Such a view of life deprives its pleasures of their relish. 
It is enough to chill all our thoughts, and to break every 
spring of noble action within us. But if, in reality, this 
life is only an introduction to a better life, or the feeble 
infancy of an existence that shall never end, it appears 
with unspeakable dignity; it has an infinitely important 
end and meaning; all its enjoyments receive an addi- 
tional relish, and the face of nature will shine with great- 
er beauty and lustre. In particular, the consideration 
of the circumstance relating to our future existence, on 
which I have been insisting, will communicate new joy 
to all our present friendshijjs. 

The reflection on our friends, as heirs with us of the 
same blessed immortality, as persons whom we shall 
meet in the regions of heavenly bliss, and live with for 
ever, must cheer our minds in all our intercourse with 
them, and cause us to look upon them with the high- 
est aifection and delight. 

But, to consider them as only beings of a day, Avho 
are to perish in death, we know not how soon; how un- 
comfortable is this! What a damp must it tlirow over 

will it be, to converse, in another world, with Sisyphus, Ulysses, 
&c. especially as those who inhabit that world, shall die no more? 

bocRAT. Apol. apud Plat. 



166 DlSSEllTATlOxX BY 

our friendsliips! How difficult must it be, for persons, 
who have auy tender feelings, to think, without distress, 
of agreeable connexions, which tliey see will end in a 
speedy and final separation; or, of valuable friends, all 
whose valuable qualities are, in a little while, to be 
wholly extinguished, and whom they are just going to 
lose for ever! The more agreeable the connexions are, 
the more distress must such apprehensions create: and 
the more valuable our friends, the greater reason Avill 
there be for pain. But, suppose what has been asserted 
in this discourse; suppose that our present connexions 
are to be renewed hereafter, that we are again to see 
those valuable persons, wlio are gone before us from 
hence; or that the friendships whicli now take place 
between worthy men, are only the beginning of an union 
of miads, tliat will be continued and perfected in the 
heavens: suppose this, 1 say, and all will be triumph. 
We shall have abundant encouragement to cultivate 
friendsliip. The view of death will have a tendency to 
increase, rather than damp the pleasures attending it. 
The addition of a good friend or relative, will be the ad- 
dition of one, who ^^i\\ share with us in the joys of im- 
mortality, who will enter ^Yith us into the city of the liv- 
ing God^ and be our everlasting companion in glory. 

It is natural to remak further on this occasion, how 
important it is that we cultivate only virtuous friend- 
ships. Cicero has observed, with the highest reason, 
that all friendships ought to be founded in virtue. There 
is, certainly, nothing else that can make it safe, last- 
ing, and happy. It is its cement, life, joy, and crown. 
There is no other permanent foundation of love, or bond 
of union between reasonable beings. But there is no- 
thing much better fitted to show the importance of vir- 
tue in friendship, than the subject now under consider- 
ation. How shocking must it be to believe, that our 
dearest intimate is one, whom we cannot expect to see 
hereafter in bliss, one who wants the love of God, and 
who is hastening fast to everlasting punishment? How 
can any person think of having in his bosom an enemy 
to the order of the world, and a child of perdition and 



THE REV. DR. R. PRICE. 167 

ruin? With what pain must an attentive person look 
upon such a friend, and what concern must he feel for 
him? On this account, were irreligious friends to allow 
themselves time enough for reflection, they would, ne- 
cessarily, he the causes of the greatest trouble to one 
another. Did they duly attend to their own circum- 
stances, the danger they are in, the precariousness of 
life and the nearness of the time when they shall be 
separated, never again to meet, except in that world, 
where joy is never known, and hope never comes; did 
they, I say, properly, attend to these things, they 
would, surely, be incapable of bearing one another; 
their love would be turned into anguish and their friend- 
ship into horror. Let us then avoid, as much as we 
well can, becoming intimately connected with any, ex- 
cept the virtuous and worthy. Let us resolve to culti- 
vate friendship only with those, whom we may hope to 
be happy with for ever. 

In the next place: It is a very obvious observation 
on the present subject, that it aftbrds the best consola- 
tion in a time of grief for the death of friends. It is, I 
think, very credible that death is an event, for which 
such creatures as we are, might not at first be designed. 
It looks like a break in our existence, attended with such 
circumstances, as may well incline us to believe, that it 
is a calamity in which we have been involved, rather 
than a method of transition from one state of existence 
to another, originally appointed by our Creator, and 
common under his government. TJiis, the Scriptures 
declare plainly to be the real fact. But then, it should 
be remembered, that the same Scriptures inform us fur- 
ther, that we have a great Deliverer, who came into the 
world, that we might have life;^ and who by death has 
destroyed deaths and him who had the power of deathy 
and obtained for us everlasting redemption. 

The dark and dreary grave, therefore, has now no- 
thing in it that should make it appear terrible. We have, 
as Christians, something better to support us under the 

* John, X, 10— Ileb. ii. 14. ix. H. 



168 rJlS.^ERTATlON BY 

anguish produced by the death of friends, than the cold 
alternative of the ancient philosophers; that either they 
are happy, or returned to the state they were in before 
they were born. We may exult in the expectation of 
finding them again, and renewing our friendship \^ilh 
them in a better country. The worst that death can do, 
is to cause a short interruption in our intercourse with 
them; or to remove them from our sight for a moment: 
we shall soon follow them, be raised up with them to a 
new life, and take possession Avitli them of an inherit- 
ance incorruptible f undefiled^ and thatfadeth nrjt away.^ 
Such are the hopes which the blessed Gospel gives; and 
well may they elevate our minds above these scenes of 
mortality, dry up our tears in every season of sorrow, 
and inspire us always with joy unspeaTcahle and full of 
glory, ^ The whole effect which the inroads made by 
death among our friends, should have upon us, is to 
render us more diligent in religious virtue, and to quick- 
en us to greater zeal in endeavouring to secure a meet- 
ing with them and with all worthy men hereafter. It 
should belong only to those, to be inconsolable on such 
occasions, whose regards are confined to this world, and 
who have no hope. 

Once more: I would observe, that the expectation 
which virtuous friends have of being completely happy 
together hereafter, furnishes them Avith a very important 
direction for regulating their present behaviour to one 
another. They should maintain in their whole deport- 
ment, that purity and dignity which become so high 
an expectation. They should endeavour, by their ex- 
amples and admonitions, to excite in one another an 
earnest ardour to excel in every worthy quality, and 
watch continually over one another, lest, through the 
indulgence of any failures, they should lose future bliss, 
and come to be eternally separated from one another. 
Their views ought to be directed always to the heavenly 
state, and their whole concern should be, so to live and 
converse together, as to secure a joyful meeting there. 

* 1 Peter, i. 3, 4. j 1 Peter, i. S. 



THE REV. DR. R. PRICE. 169 

The pleasures of society and friendship are some of 
the greatest we are capable of. It is not credible, that 
there is any created intelligence that enjoys a happiness 
which is independent of all social correspondencies and 
connexions. A state wholly solitary must want many of 
the principal sources of bliss. It appears dark and de- 
$5olate, and cannot admit of the exertion of some of the 
noblest powers of reasonable beings. Friendship, there- 
fore, in all probability, is everlasting and funiversal in 
the rational creation, and will make a part of our hap- 
piness in every future period of our existence. The con- 
sideration of this has a tendency to raise our ideas of 
its value, and should engage us to be anxious about so 
acting in this relation now, and so improving its bless- 
ings, as that we may go hence properly qualified for the 
more noble and exalted friendships of another world. 
How noble and exalted these will be, it cannot enter into 
our hearts to conceive. It is impossible to look forward 
to them with lively faith and attention, without feeling 
an alacrity and elevation of mind, not to be produced 
by any other cause. Let us, before we dismiss this 
subject, fix our thoughts here a moment, and recollect 
some of the observations which have been made. It 
gives us, in the present life, a pleasure of the highest 
kind, to converse with wise and worthy men, amidst all 
our present imperfections, and notwithstanding the cer- 
tain prospect of being in a little wliile parted by death. 
What then will it be to join the general assembly of the 
great and good in the heavens; and to be restored there 
to those who are now the desire of our eyes, the joy of 
our hearts; to converse with them when freed from eve- 
ry weakness and adorned with every amiable quality, 
and to make a part of the glorious company of Christ's 
faithful followers at his second coming? What will it 
be, not only to have our present friendships thus per- 
petuated, but to commence new ones with superior be- 
ings; to live and reign with the Saviour of sinful mor- 
tals, and to be for ever improving, with all tlie virtuous 
part of the creation, under the eye and care of the 
Almi^htv? 

22 



m, 



170 DISSERTATION BY 

We are now frail, feeble, ignorant, and helpless; 
we tliink, we speak, and act, like cliildren; but, in a 
little time, we shall be advanced to a more perfect state, 
and receive our complete consummation, in soul and 
body, in everlasting glory. Soon the darkness of this 
world will vanish; every weight will be removed from 
our aspiring minds, our highest faculties gain full scope 
for exertion, and unclouded, endless day dawn upon 
us. We shall be brought to the heavenly Jerusalem^ to 
an innumerable comjmny of angels^ to the spirits of just 
men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of the new 
Covenant^ and to God, the Judge of all. 

We have latent powers which it may be the busi- 
ness of eternity to evolve. We are capable of an infinite 
variety of agreeable perceptions and sensations, which 
are now as incomprehensible to us, as the enjoyments of 
a grown man are to an infant in the womb. Our present 
existence is but the first step of an ascent in dignity and 
bliss, which will never come to an end. How amazing 
and ecstatic this prospect! What shall we some time or 
other be? But let us take care to remember the truth, 
which, in this discourse, I have all along kept in sight. 
Let us not forget, that none but persons of righteous 
lives and characters have reason to rejoice in these views. 
The workers of iniquity will not rise, but sink. They 
will be driven from the society of virtuous beings. They 
will lose infinite happiness, and be cast away forever. 
They are nuisances in the creation, and unfit to be pre- 
served; or, according to our Lord's representation, the 
tares among the wheat; and when the time of harvest 
shall come, he will say to his reapers, Gather together 
first the tares, and bind them in bundles, and burn them; 
but gather the wheat into my barn.^ Would you, then, 
make sure of the happiness I have been representing — 
would you, when every earthly connexion is broken, 
obtain admission into a better world, and an union with 
those you love in the habitations of the just — would you 
be able, hereafter, to join your voice to the voices of 

* Matthew, xiii. 30. 



% 



THE REV. DR. R. PRICE. in 

millions, who, after the long silence of the grave, will 
break forth into St. PauFs song of triumph, O grave, 
where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting? 
Blessed he God, who giveth us the victory, through Jesus 
Christ — would you rise to a j)lcice on Chris fs throne, 
or see the time when you shall look down upon arch- 
angels — then avoid vice; practise true religion; strive to 
get above defiling passions, and to grow in every ex- 
cellent disposition. On this, all depends. This is the 
only preparation for bliss, and the only way to favour 
under the divine government. x411 anxiety, except about 
this, every human being will soon know to be folly un- 
speakable. Remember, that if there is such a state of 
future existence as has been described, there is nothing 
worth a single thought, compared with making provi- 
sion for it; and that conscious of your own dignity, it 
becomes you to look continually above every thing mor- 
tal, and to spurn with disdain at those pleasures, profits, 
and honours, on which the children of this world set 
their hearts. Blessed are they who keep the command- 
ments of Grod, that they may have a right to the tree of 
life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.* 
He that overcometh shall inherit all things. But the 
fearful and unbelieving, and the abominable, and mur- 
derers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idola- 
ters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake that 
burneth with fire and brimstone; which is the second 
death. 

* Hev. xxii. 14; xxi, 7% 3^ 



A SERMON 
BF PHILIP DODDJIIDGE, D, D, 

SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, ON THE 
DEATH OF CHILDKEN. 

PREFACE. 



The discourse which I now offer to the public was drawn up 
on a very sorrowful occasion; the death of a most desirable child, 
who was formed in such a correspondence to my own relish and 
temper, as to be able to give me a degree of delight, and conse- 
quently of distress, which I did not before think it possible I 
could have received from a little creature who had not quite 
completed her fifth year. 

Since the sermon was preached, it has pleased God to make 
the like breaches in the families of several of my friends; and, 
with regard to some of them, the affliction hath been attended 
with circumstances of yet sorer aggravation. Though several of 
them are removed to a considerable distance from me, and from 
each other, I have borne their afflictions upon my heart with 
cordial sympathy; and it is with a particular desire of serving 
them, that I have undertaken the sad task of reviewing and 
transcribing these papers; which may almost be called the mi- 
nutes of my own sighs and tears, over the poor remains of my 
eldest and (of this kind) dearest hope, when they Vi^ere not as 
yet buried out of my sight. 

They are, indeed, full of affection, and to be sure some may 
think they are too full of it: but let them consider the subject, 
and the circumstances, and surely they will pardon it. I appre- 
hend, I could not have treated such a subject coldly, had I writ- 
ten upon it many years ago, when I was untaught in the school 
of affliction, and knew nothing of such a calamity as this but by 
speculation or report: how much less could I do it, when God 
had touched me in so tender a part, and (to allude to a cele- 
brated ancient story) called me out to appear on a public stage, 
as with an urn in my hand, which contained the ashes of my 
own child! 

In such a sad situation, ,arents, at least, will forgive the tears 
6f a parent, and those meltings of s()ul which overflow in the 



174 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PJIOYIDENCE, 

following pages. I have not attempted to run through the com- 
inon-place of immoderate grief, but have only selected a few 
obvious thoughts which I found peculiarly suitable to myself; 
and, I bless God, I can truly say, they gave me a solid and sub- 
stantial relief, under a shock of sorrow, which would otherwise 
have broken my spirits. 

On my own experience, therefore, I would recommend them 
to others, in the like condition. And let me intreat my friends 
and fellow-sufterers to remember, that it is not a low degree of 
submission to the divine will, which is called for in the ensuing 
discourse. It is comparatively an easy thing to behave with ex- 
ternal decency, to refrain from bold censures and outrageous 
complaints, or to speak in the outward language of resignation. 
But it is not so easy to get rid of every repining thought, and to 
forbear taking it, in some degree at least, unkindly, that the God 
whom we love and serve, in whose friendship we have long trust- 
ed and rejoiced, should act what, to sense, seems so unfriendly 
a part: that he should take away a child; and if a child, that 
child; and if that child, at that age; and if at that age with this 
or that particular circumstance; which seems the very contriv- 
ance of Providence, to add double anguish to the wound: and all 
this, when he could so easily have recalled it; when we know 
him to have done it for so many others; when we have so earn- 
estly desired it; when we sought it with such importunity, and 
yet, as we imagine, with so much submission too: — that, notwith- 
standing all this, he should tear it away with an inexorable hand, 
and leave us, it may be for a while, under the load, without any 
extraordinary comforts and supports, to balance so grievous a 
trial. — In these circumstances, not only to justify, but to glorify 
God in all, — cheerfully to subscribe to his will, — cordially to ap- 
prove it as merciful and gracious, — so as to be able to say, as 
the pious and excellent archbishop of Cambray did, when his 
royal pupil, and the hopes of a nation were taken away,* " If 
there needed no more than to move a straw to bring him to life 
again, I would not do it, since the divine pleasure is otherwise.'* 
— This, this is a difficult lesson indeed; a triumph of christian 
faith and love, which I fear many of us are yet to learn. 

But let us follow after it, and watch against the first rising of 
a contrary temper, as most injurious to God, and prejudicial to 
ourselves. To preserve us against it, let us review the consi- 
derations now to be proposed, as what we are to digest into our 
hearts, and work into our thoughts and our passions. And I 
would hope, that if v/e do in good earnest make the attempt, we 
shall find this discourse a cooling and sweetening medicine, 
which may allay that inward heat and sharpness, with which, in 
a case like ours, the heart is often inflamed and corroded. I com- 
mend it, such as it is, to the blessing of the great physician, and 

* The Duke of Burgundy. See Cambray's Life, page 32$. 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 175 

could wish the reader to make up its many deficiencies, bj Mr. 
Flavel's Token for Mourners, and Dr. Grosvenor's Mourner; to 
which, if it suit his relish, he may please to add Sir William 
Temple's Essay on the Excess of Grief: three tracts which, in 
their very different strains and styles, I cannot but look upon as 
in the number of the best which our language, or, perhaps, any 
other, has produced upon this subject. 

As for this little piece of mine, I question not, bu.t, like the 
generality of single sermons, it will soon be worn out and for- 
gotten. But in the meantime, I would humbly hope, that some 
tender parent, whom Providence has joined with me in sad simi- 
litude of grief, may find some consolation from it, while sitting 
by the coffin of a beloved child, or mourning over its grave. And 
I particularly hope it, with regard to those dear and valuable 
friends, whose sorrows on the like occasion, have lately been 
added to my ovv^n. I desire that though they be not expressly 
named, they would please to consider this sermon as most affec- 
tionately and respectfully dedicated to them; and would, in re- 
turn, give me a share in their prayers, that all the vicissitudes 
of life may concur to quicken me in the duties of it, and to ripen 
me for that blessed world, where T hope many of those dear de- 
lights, which are now withering around us, will spring up in 
fairer and more durable forms. Amen. 

JSTorthampton, January SI, 1756-7. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

I could easily show, with how much propriety I have called 
the dear deceased an amiable and hopeful child, by a great many 
little stories, which parents would perhaps read with pleasure, 
and children might hear with some improvement: yet as I can- 
not be sure that no others may happen to read the discourse, I 
dare not trust my pen and my heart, on so delicate a subject. 
One circumstance I will however venture to mention, which may 
indeed be considered as a specimen of many others. As she was 
a great darling with most of our friends that knew her, she often 
received invitations to different places at the same time: and 
when I once asked her, on such an occasion, what made every 
body love her so well; she answered me, (with that simplicity 
and spirit, which alas! charmed me too much) '• Indeed, papa, 1 
cannot think, unless it be because 1 love every body." A senti- 
ment obvious to the understanding of a child, yet not unworthy 
the reflection of the wisest man.* 

* Tibl monstrabo Amatorium sine Medicamento, sine Herbis, sine ul- 
luis VeneficDe Carmine, Si vis amari, oma. — Sek. 



176 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

SERMON. 

And it came to pass when the man of God saw her afar off, that 
he said to Gehazi his servant, behold, yonder is that Shuna- 
mite: run now, I pray thee, to meet her, and say unto her, is 
it well with thee? Is it well with thine husband? Is it well 
with the child? And she answered. It is well. — 2 Kings,iv. 
25, 26. 

When the apostle would encourage our hope and 
trust in the tenderness of Christ as the great high priest, 
and convince us that he is capable of being touched 
with a sympatlietic sense of our infirmities, he argues 
at large from this consideration, that Jesus was in all 
points tempted like us; so that as he himself has suffer- 
ed, being tempted, he knows how more compassionately 
to succour those that are under the like trials. Now this 
must surely intimate, that it is not in human nature, 
even in its most perfect state, so tenderly to commise- 
rate any sorrows, as those which our own hearts have 
felt: as we cannot form a perfect idea of any bitter 
kind of draught, by the most exact description, till we 
have ourselves tasted it. It is probably for this reason, 
amongst others, that God frequently exercises such, as 
have the honour to be inferior shepherds in the flock of 
Christ, with a long train of various afflictions, that we 
may be able to comfort them who are in the like trou- 
ble, with those consolations with which we have our- 
selves been comforted of God. And, if we have the 
temper which becomes our office, will greatly reconcile 
us to our trials, to consider, that from our weeping eyes, 
and our bleeding hearts, a balm may be extracted to 
heal tlie sorrows of others, and a cordial to revive their 
fainting spirits. May we never be left to sink under our 
burden, in such a manner, that there should be room, 
after all we have boasted of the strength of religious 
supports, to apply to us the words of Eliphaz to Job, 
Thou hast strengthened the weak hands, and upheld 
him that was ready to fall; but now it is come upon thee, 
and thou faintest; it touches thee, and thou art troubled! 
May we never behave, as if the consolations of God 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 1T7 

were small; lest it should be as when a standard-bearer 
fainteth; and whole companies of soldiers are thrown 
into confusion and distress! 

My friends^ you are witnesses for me, that I have 
not stood by, as an unconcerned spectator amidst the 
desolations of your respective families, when God's 
awful hand hath been lopping off those tender branches 
from them, which were once common hope and delight. 
I have often put my soul in the stead of yours, and en- 
deavoured to give such a turn to my public as well as 
my private discourses, as might be a means of compo- 
sing and cheering our minds, and forming you to a sub- 
missive temper, that you might be subject to the Father 
of Spirits, and live. In this view I have, at different 
times, largely insisted on the example of Aaron, who 
held his peace, Avhen his two eldest sons were struck 
dead in a moment by fire from the Lord, which destroy- 
ed them in the very act of their sin; and I have also re- 
presented that of Job, who, when the death of ten chil- 
dren by one blow was added to the spoil of his great 
possessions, could say. The Lord gave, and the Lord 
hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. The 
instance which is before us, is not indeed so memorable 
as these; but to present circumstances it is, in many re- 
spects, more suitable: and it may the rather deserve our 
notice, as it shews us the wisdom, composure, and piety 
of one of the weaker and tenderer sex, on an occasion 
of such aggravated distress, that had Aaron or Job 
behaved just as she did, we must have acknowledged, 
that they had not sunk beneath the dignity of their 
character, nor appeared unworthy of our applause and 
our imitation. 

Indeed there may be some reason to imagine, that 
it was with design to humble those who are in distin- 
guished stations of life, and who have peculiar advan- 
tages and obligations to excel in religion, that God has 
shewn us in Scripture, as well as in common life, some 
bright examples of piety, where they could hardly have 
been expected in so great a degree; and hath, as it were^ 

23 



178 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

perfected praise out of the mouths of habes and suck- 
lings. Thus when Zacharias^ an aged priest, doubted 
the veracity of the angel Avhich appeared to assure him 
of the birth of his child, which was to be produced in 
an ordinary way; Mary, an obscure young virgin, could 
believe a far more unexampled event, and said, with 
humble faith and thankful consent. Behold the hand- 
maid of the Lord, be it unto me according to thy word. 
Jonah the prophet, though favoured with such imme- 
diate revelations, and so lately delivered, in a miracu- 
lous way, from the very belly of hell, was thrown into 
a most indecent transport of passion, on the withering 
of a gourd; so that he presumed to tell the Almighty to 
his face, that he did well to be angry even unto death: 
whereas this pious woman preserves the calmness and 
serenity of her temper, when she had lost a child, a son, 
an only child, who had been given beyond all natural 
hope, and therefore to be sure was so much the dearer, 
and the expectation from him so much the higher. Yet 
these expectations dashed almost in a moment; and this, 
when he was grown up to an age when children are pe- 
culiarly entertaining; for he was old enough to be with 
his father in the field, where no doubt he was diverting 
him with his fond prattle; yet he was not too big to be 
laid on his mother's knees, when he came home com- 
plaining of his head; so that he was probably about five 
or six years old. This amiable child was well in the 
morning, and dead by noon; a pale corpse in his mo- 
ther's arms! and he now lay dead in the house; and 
yet she had the faith, and the goodness to say, ^^It 
is well.'' 

This good woman had found the prophet Elisha 
grateful for all the favours he had received at her house; 
where she had from time to time accommodated him in 
his journies, and thought it an honour rather than an 
incumbrance. She had experienced the power of his 
prayers, in answer to which the child had been given; 
and it is extremely probable, that she also recollected 
the miracle which Elijah had wrought a few years be- 
fore; though till that time the lilie had not been known 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 179 

in Israel, or ou earth; I mean, in raising from the dead 
the child of that widow of Sarepta, who had nourished 
him during the famine. She might therefore think it a 
possible case, that the miracle might be renewed; at 
least, she knew not how to comfort herself better, than 
by going to so good a friend, and asking his counsels 
and Ms prayers, to enable her to bear her affliction, if it 
must not be removed. 

Accordingly she hasted to him; and he, on the other 
side, discovered the temper of a real friend, in the mes- 
sage with which he sent Grehazi his servant to meet her, 
while she was yet afar off. The moment she appeared, 
the concerns of her whole family seem to have come into 
his kind heart at once, and he particularly asks. Is it 
well with thee? Is it well with thine husband? Is it well 
with the child? A beautiful example of that affectionate 
care for the persons and families of their friends, which 
Christian ministers (who, like the prophets of old, are 
called men of God) should habitually bear about in 
their hearts; which should be awakened by every sight 
of them, and expressed on every proper occasion. 

Her answer was very remarkable: she said. It is well. 
Perhaps she meant this, to divert the more particular 
inquiry of the servant; as she had before made the same 
answer to her husband, when he had examined into the 
reason of her intended journey, as probably not know- 
ing of the sad breach which had been made: she said, it 
is well; which was a civil way of intimating her desire 
that he would not ask any more particular questions. 
But I cannot see any reason to restrain the words to 
this meaning alone: we have ground to believe, from the 
piety she expressed in her first regards to Elisha, and 
the opportunities which she had of improving in reli- 
gion by the frequent converse of that holy man, that 
when she used this language, she intended thereby to 
express her resignation to the divine will in Avhat had 
lately passed: and this might be the meaning of her 
heart, (though one ignorant of the particulars of her 
case, might not fully understand it from such ambigu-» 
QUS words;) ^^It is well, on the whole. Though my 



180 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDKNCK, 

^^ family be afflicted^ we are afflicted in faithfulness; 
'' though my dear babe be dead, yet my heavenly Fa- 
^^ther is just, and he is good in all. He knows how to 
^^ bring glory to himself, and advantage to us, from this 
'' stroke. Whether this application do, or do not suc- 
'' ceed, whether the child be, or be not restored, it is 
'' still well; well witli him, and well with us; for we are 
^^in such wise and such gracious hands, that I Avould 
^^not allow one murmuring word, or one repining 
^' thought." So that, on the whole, the sentiment of this 
good Shunamite was much the same with that of He- 
zekiah, when he answered to tliat dreadful threatening 
which imported the destruction of his children^ good is 
the word of the Lord which he hath spoken; or that of 
Job, when he heard that all his sons and his daughters 
were crushed under the ruins of their elder brother's 
house, and yet (in the fore-cited words) said, blessed 
be the name of the Lord. 

Now this is the temper to which, by divine assist- 
ance, w^e should all labour to bring our own hearts, 
when God puts this bitter cup into our hands, and takes 
away with a stroke those dear little ones, whicli were 
the desire of our eyes, and the joy of our hearts. Let 
us not content ourselves, in such circumstances, with 
keeping the door of our lips, that we break not out into 
any indecencies of complaint; let us not attempt to hard- 
en ourselves against our sorrows by a stern insensibi- 
lity, or that sullen resolution which sometimes says, 
^^it is grief, and I must bear it;'' but let us labour, (for 
a great labour it will indeed be) to compose and quiet 
our souls, calmly to acquiesce in this painful dispensa- 
tion, nay, cordially to approve it as in present circum- 
stances every way fit. 

It will be the main business of this discourse, to 
prove how reasonable such a temper is, or to show how 
much cause Christian parents have to borrow the lan- 
guage of the text, when their infant offspring is taken 
away, and to say with the pious Shunamite, in the no- 
blest sense that her words will bear, — It is well. 

And here I would more particularly shew, — it is 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. iSt 

well in the general^ because God does it: — it is surely 
well for the pious parents in particular, because it is the 
work of their covenant God; — they may see many re- 
spects in which it is evidently so, by observing what 
useful lessons it has a tendency to teach them: — and 
they have reason to hope, it is well with those dear 
creatures whom God hath removed in their early days. 

These are surely convincing reasons to the under- 
standing: yet who can say, that they shall be reasons to 
the heart? Arise, O God, and plead thine own cause in 
the most effectual manner! May thy powerful and gra- 
cious voice appease the swelling billows of the passions, 
and produce a great and delightful calm in our souls, in 
which we may yet enjoy thee and ourselves, though a 
part of our treasure be for the present swallowed up! 

I. There is surely reason, in such a case, to say it is 
well, — ^because God doth it. 

This passed for an unanswerable reason with David, 
I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because thou didst 
it; and with good old Eli, under a severer trial than 
ours, It is the Lord, let him do as seemeth good in his 
sight. And shall we object against the force of it? Was 
it a reason to David, and to Eli, and is it not equally 
so to us? Or have we any new right to reply against 
God, which those eminent saints had not? 

His kingdom ruleth over all: and there is not so 
much as a sparrow that falls to the ground without our 
Father's notice, but the very hairs of our head are all 
numbered by him. Can v»"e tlien imagine that our dear 
children fall into their graves without his notice or in- 
terposition? Did that watchful eye tliat keepcth Israel, 
now, for the first time, slumber and sleep, and an enemy 
lay hold on that fatal moment, to bear away these pre- 
cious spoils, and bury our joys and our hopes in the 
dust? Did some malignant hand stop up tlie avenues of 
life, and break its springs, so as to baffle all the tender- 
ness of the parent, and all the skill of the physician? 
AVhence does such a thought come, and whither would 
it lead? Diseases and accidents are but second causes, 
which owe all their operations to the continued energy 



182 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

of the great original cause. Therefore God says, I will 
bereave them of children; I take away the desire of thine 
eyes with a stroke. He changeth their countenance, and 
sendeth them away. Thou Lord turnest man to de- 
struction, and sayest, return ye cliildren of men. And 
what shall we say? Are not the administrations of his 
providence wise and good? Can we teach him know- 
ledge? Can we tax him with injustice? Shall the most 
High God learn of us how to govern the world, and be 
instructed by our wisdom when to remove his creatures 
from one state of being to another? Or do we imagine 
that his administration, in the general right and good, 
varies when he comes to touch our bone and our flesh? 
Is that tlie secret language of our soul, " it is well, 
" others should drink of the cup, but not we; that any 
^^ families but ours sliould be broken, and any hearts 
^^but ours should be wounded?'^ AYho might not claim 
the like exemption? And what would become of the 
divine government in general; or where would be his 
obedient homage from his creatures, if each should be- 
gin to complain, as soon as it comes to his own turn to 
suffer? Much fitter is it for us to conclude, that our own 
afflictions may be as reasonable as those of others; that 
amidst all the clouds and darkness of his present dis- 
pensation, righteousness and judgment are the habita- 
tion of his throne; and, in a word, that it is well, be- 
cause God hath done it. It suits the general scheme of 
the divine providence, and, to an obedient submissive 
creature, that might be enough; but it is far from being 
all. 

For, 

II. Pious parents, under such a dispensation, may 
conclude it is well for them in particular,— because he, 
who hath done it, is their covenant God. 

This is the great promise, to which all the saints un- 
der the Old and New Testament are heirs, I will be to 
them a God, and they shall be to me a people: and if 
we are interested in it, the happy consequence is, that 
w^e being his, all our concerns are his also; all are hum-' 
bly resigned to him; — and graciously administered by 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 183 

hinij — -and incomparably better blessings bestowed and 
secured, than any which the most afflictive providence 
can remove. 

If we have any share in this everlasting covenant, all 
that we are or have, must, of course, have been solemnly 
surrendered to God. And this is a thought peculiarly 
applicable to the case immediately in view. "Did I 
not,^' may the christian, in such a sad circumstance, 
generally say, "did I not, in a very solemn manner, 
^^ bring this my child to God in baptism, and in that 
^^ ordinance recognize his right to it? Did I not, with 
^^all humble subjection to the Father of Spirits, and Fa- 
^^ther of Mercies, lay it down at his feet, perhaps with 
^^ an express, at least to be sure with a tacit consent, 
^^that it should be disposed of by him, as his infinite 
*^^ wisdom and goodness should direct, whether for life 
"or for death? And am I now to complain of him, be- 
^^ cause he has removed not only a creature of his own, 
<^^but one of the children of his family? Or shall I pre- 
^^tend, after all, to set up a claim in opposition to his? 
^^ A heathen parent, even from the light of nature, might 
"have learned silent submission: how^ much more then 
^^ a christian parent, who hath presented his child to God 
"in this initiatory ordinance; and perhaps also many a 
^^time, I«3tli before and since, hath presented himself at 
"the table of the Lord! Have I not there taken that 
^^cup of blessings, with a declared resolution of accept- 
^^ing every other cup, how bitter soever it might be, 
^''' which my heavenly Father should see fit to put into 
^^my hand? When I have perhaps felt some painful 
"forebodings of what I am now suffering; I have, in 
"my own thoughts, particularly singled out that dear 
"object of my cares and my hopes, to lay it down anew 
" at my Father's feet, and say, Lord thou gavest it to 
"me, and I resign it to thee; continue, or remove it, 
"as thou pleasest. And did I, then mean to trifle with 
'' God? Did I mean in effect to say, Lord, I will give 
^^it up, if thou wilt not take it?'' 

Reflect farther, I beseech you, on your secret re- 
tirements, and think, as surely some of you may, "How 



134 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

^^ often have 1 there been on my knees before God on 
^^ account of this child; and what was then my language? 
^^Did I say^ Lord^ I absolutely insist on its recovery; 
^^I cannot, on any terms or any considerations whatso- 
^^ever, bear to think of losing it?'^ Surely we were none 
of us so indecently transported with the fondest passion, 
as to be so rash with our mouths as to utter such things 
before the great God. Such presumption had deserved 
a much heavier punishment than we are now bearing, 
and, if not retracted, may perhaps still have it. Did not 
one or another of us rather say, "Lord, I would hum- 
"bly intreat, with all due submission to thy superior 
^^ wisdom and Sovereign pleasure, that my child may 
^^ive; but if it must be otherwise, not my will, but thine 
^^be done? I and mine are in thine hand, do with me, 
^^and with them, as seemeth good in thy sight.^^ And 
do we now blame ourselves for this? Would we unsay 
it again, and, if possible, take ourselves and our chil- 
dren out of his hands, whom we have so often owned as 
all- wise and all-gracious, and have chosen as our great 
guardian and theirs? 

Let it fcirther be considered, it is done by that God 
who has accepted of this surrender, so as to undertake 
the administration of our affairs: " He is become my co- 
venant God in Christ,'^ may the christian saj»; "and, 
^^in consequence of that covenant, he hath engaged to 
^^ manage the concerns and interests of his people so, 
^^that all things shall work together for good to them 
^^that love him: and do I not love him? Answer, Oh 
^^my heart, dost thou not love thy God much better 
^^than all the blessings w^hich earth can boast, or which 
"the grave hath swallowed up? Wouldst thou resign 
^" thine interest in him to recover these precious spoils, 
^^to receive this dear child from the dust, a thousand 
" times fairer and sweeter than before? Rather let death 
^^ devour every remaining comfort, and leave me alone 
" with him; with whom when I indeed am, I miss not 
"the creatures, but rather rejoice in their absence, as I 
^"^am then more entire with him whom my soul loveth. 
" And if I do indeed love him, this promise is mine, 



ox THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 185 

'* and all things, and therefore this sad event in particu- 
^' lar, shall work together for ray good. Shall I not then 
" say, it is well? What if it exceeded all the stretch of 
^^my thoughts, to conceive how it could, in any in- 
'' stance, be so? What are my narrow conceptions, that 
'' they should pretend to circumscribe infinite wisdom, 
^^faithfulness, and mercy? Let me rather, with Abra- 
^' ham, give glory to God, and in hope believe against 
'^^hope.^^ 

Once more; let us consider how many invaluable 
blessings are given us by this covenant, and then judge 
whether we have not the utmost reason to acquiesce in 
such an event of Providence. ^^If I am in covenant 
with God,^^ may the believer say, " then he hath par- 
'' doned my sins, and renewed my heart, and hath made 
" his blessed Spirit dwelling in me, the sacred bond of 
'' an everlasting union between him and my soul. He 
" is leading me through the Avilderness, and will, ere 
^^ong, lead me out of it to the heavenly Canaan. And 
" how far am I already arrived in my journey thither, 
'* now that I am come to the age of losing a child! And 
" when God hath done all this for me, is he rashly to 
" be suspected of unkindness? He that spared not his 
'' own Son; he that gave me with him his spirit and his 
^^ kingdom, why doth he deny, or why doth he remove, 
^^ any other favour? Did he think the life of this child 
'' too great a good to grant, when he thought not Christ 
^' and glory too precious? Away with that thought, O 
'^ my unbelieving heart, and with every thought which 
^^ would derogate from such rich amazing grace, or 
^^ would bring any thing in comparison with it. Art 
^^thou under these obligations to him, and wilt thou 
" yet complain? With what grace, witli what decency 
'' canst thou dispute this, or any other matter, with thy 
" God? What right have I yet to cry any more to the 
" King?" Would any of my brethren venture to say, 
'' what though I be a child of God, and an heir of glo- 
" ry, it matters not, for my gourd is withered; that plea- 
'* sant plant which was opening so fair and so delightful, 

21 



186 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

^' under tlie shadow of which I expected long to have 
"sat, and even the rock of ages cannot shelter me so 
" well? I can behold that beloved face no more, and 
"therefore I will not look upward to behold the face of 
"God, I will not look forward to Christ and to hea- 
" ven?" Would this, my friends, be the language of a 
real christian? Nay, are there not many abandoned sin- 
ners who would tremble at such expressions? Yet is it 
not in eifect the language of our tumultuous passions, 
when, like Rachael, we are mourning for our children, 
and will not be comforted, because they are not? Is it 
not our language while we cannot, like the pious Shu- 
namite in the itid, bring our afflicted hearts to say, It 
is well. 

III. Pious parents, in such a circumstance, have 
farther reason to say. It is well, — as they may observe 
an apparent tendency in such a dispensation to teach 
them a variety of the most instructive and useful les- 
sons, in a very convincing and effectual manner. 

It is a just observation of Solomon, that the rod and 
reproof give wisdom; and it is peculiarly applicable to 
such a chastisement of our heavenly Father. It should 
therefore be our great care to hear the rod and him that 
hath appointed it; and so far as it hath a tendency to 
teach us our duty, and to improve the divine life in our 
souls, we have the highest reason to say, that it is in- 
deed well. 

Every affliction hath in its degree this kind of ten- 
dency, and it is the very reason for which we are thus 
chastened, that we may profit by our sorrows, and be 
made partakers of the God's holiness. But this dispen- 
sation is particularly adapted, in a very affecting man- 
ner, — to teach us the vanity of the world, — to warn us 
of the approach of our own death, — to quicken us in 
the duties incumbent upon us, especially to our surviv- 
ing children, — and to produce a more entire resignation 
to the Divine Will, which is indeed the surest founda- 
tion of quiet, and source of happiness. 

I shall insist a little more particularly on each of 
these; and I desire that it may be remembered that the 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 187 

sight and knowledge of such mournful providences as 
-are now before us. should^ iu some degree, be improved 
to these purposes, even by those parents whose families 
are most prosperous and joyful: may they learn wisdom 
and piety from what we suffer, and their improvements 
shall be acknowledged as an additional reason for us to 
say. It is well. 

1. When God takes away our children from us, it is 
a very affecting lesson of the vanity of the world. 

There is liardlv a child born into it. on vrhom the 
parents do not look with some pleasing expectation that 
it shall comfort them concerning their labour. This 
makes the toil of education easy and deli£:htful: and 
truly it is very early that we bedn to find a sweetness 
in it^ which abundantly repays all the fatigue. Five, or 
four, or tliree, or two years, make discoveries which af- 
ford immediate pleasure, and which suggest future 
hopes. Theu" words, their actions, tlieir very looks-touch 
us, (if they be amiable and promising children,) in a 
tender, but very powerful manner; their little arms twine 
about our hearts: and there is something more penetra- 
ting in their first broken accents of endearment, than in 
all the pomp and ornament of words. Every infant-year 
increases the pleasure and nourishes the hope. And 
where is the parent so A^ise, and so cautious, and so 
constantly intent on his journey to heaven^ as not to 
measure back a few steps to earth again, on such a 
plausible and decent occasion, as that of introducing 
the young stranger into the amusements, nay perhaps^ 
v>'here circumstances will admit it, into the elegancies 
of life, as well as its more serious and important busi- 
ness? What fond calculations do we form of what it 
will be, from what it is! How do we in thought open 
every blossom of sprightliness, or humanity, or piety to 
its full spread, and ripen it to a sudden maturityl But, 
oh, who shall teach those that have never felt it, how 
it tears the very soul, when God roots up the tender 
plant with an inexorable hand, and withers the bud 
in which the colours were beginning to glow! Where 
is now our delight? Where is our hope? Is it in tlie 



188 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

coffin? Is it in the grave? Alas! all the loveliness of 
person, of genius, and of temper, serves but to point 
and to poison the arrow, which is drawn out of our own 
quiver to wound us. Vain, delusive, transitory joys! 
'' Jlnd siichy oh my soul,^^ will the Christian say, ''such 
are thine earthly comforts in every child, in every rela- 
tive, in every 'possession of life; such are the objects of 
thy hopes, and thy fears, thy schemes, and thy labours, 
where eai'th alone is concerned. Let me then, once far 
all, direct mine eyes to another and a better state. From 
these broken cisterns, the fragments of which may hurt 
me indeed, hut can no longer refresh me, let me look to 
the fountain of living waters. From these setting stars, 
or rather these bright but vanishing meteors, which make 
my darkness so much the more sensible, let me tinm to 
the Father of lights. O Lord, what wait I for? my hope 
is in thee, my sure abode, my everlasting confidence/ My 
gourds wither, my children die; but the Lard liveth, and 
blessed be my rock, and let the God of my salvation be 
exalted. I see in one instance more, the sad effects of 
having over-loved the creature; let me endeavour for the 
future, by the divine assistance, to fix my affections there 
where they cannot exceed; but where all the ardour of 
them will be as much my security and my happiness, as 
it is now my snare and my distress.^^ 

2. The removal of our children by such awful strokes 
may warn us of the approach of our own death. 

Hereby God doth very sensibly shew us, and those 
around us, that all tlesh is as grass, and all the glory and 
loveliness of it like the flower of the field. And when 
our own habitations are made the houses of mourning, 
and ourselves the leaders of that sad procession, it may 
surely be expected that we should lay it to heart, so as 
to be quickened and improved by the view. "Have my 
children died in the morning of their days, and can I 
promise myself that I shall see the evening of mine? 
•N%w perhaps may I say, in a more literal sense than 
ever, the graves are ready for me. One of my family, 
and some of us may add, the first-bom of it, is gone 
as it were to take possession of the sepulchre in all our 



UN THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 189 

names; and ere long I shall lie down with my child in 
the same bed; yea^ perhaps, many of the feet that fol- 
lowed it shall attend me thither. Our dust shortly shall 
he blended together; and who can tell but this providence 
might chiefly be intended as a learning blow to me, that 
these concluding days of my life might be more regular y 
7nore spiritual, and more useful than the formerP^' 

3. The providence before us may be farther impro- 
ved to quicken us in the duties of life^ and especially in 
the education of surviving children. 

It is, on the principles I hinted above, an engage- 
ment, that whatever our hand findeth to do, we should 
do it with all our might, since it so plainly shews us that 
we are going to the grave, where there is no device, nor 
knowledge, nor working: but permit me especially to 
observe, how peculiarly the sentiments we feel on these 
sad occasions, may be improved for the advantage of 
our dear offspring who yet remain, and quicken us to a 
proper care in their religious education. 

We all see that it is a very reasonable duty, and 
every christian parent resolves that he will ere long 
apply himself to it; but I am afraid, great advantages 
are lost by a delay, which we think we can easily ex- 
cuse. Our hands are full of a variety of affairs, and 
our ciiildren are yet very young: we are therefore ready 
to imagine it is a good husbandry of time to defer our 
attempts for their instruction to a more convenient sea- 
son, when they may be able to learn more in an hour, 
than the labour of days could now teach them; besides 
that we are apprehensive of danger in over-loading their 
tender spirits, especially when they are perhaps under 
indisposition, and need to be diverted, rather than 
gravely advised and instructed. 

But I beseech you, my friends, let us view the mat- 
ter with that impartiality, which the eloquence of death 
hath a tendency to produce. " That lovely creature that 
God hath now taken away, though its days tcere feWy 
though its faculties were weak, yet might it not have 
known a great deal more of religion than it did, and felt 
a great deal more of it tooy had I faith fully and prii- 



190 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

dently done my part? How did it learn language so soon, 
and in such a compass and readiness? J\*ot by midfiplied 
rules, nor laboured instruction, hut by conversation, And 
might it not have learned much more of divine things by 
conversation too, if they had been alloived a due share in 
our thoughts and our discourses; according to the charge 
given to the Israelites, to talk of them going out and 
coming in, lying down and rising up? How soon did it 
learn trifles, and retain them, and, after its little way, 
observe and reason upon them, perhaps with a vivacity 
that sometimes surprised me! And had I been as diligent 
as I ought, who can tell what progress it might have 
made in divine knowledge? Who can tell but as a re- 
ward to these pious cares, God might have put a word 
into its dying lips, which I might all my life have recol- 
lected with pleasure, and out of its feeble mouth might 
have perfected praise?^' 

My friends, let us humble ourselves deeply before 
God under a sense of our past neglects, and let us learn 
our future duty. We may perhaps be ready fondly to 
say, '^ oh that it were possible my child could be restored 
to me again, though it icere but for a few weeks or days! 
how diligently would I attempt to supply my former de- 
ficiencies!^^ Unprofitable wish! Yet may the thought be 
improved for the good of surviving children. How shall 
we express our aff'ection to them? Not surely by in- 
dulging all the demands of appetite and fancy, in many 
instances so hazardous, and so fatal; not by a solicitude 
to treasure up wealth for them, whose only portion may 
perhaps be a little cofSn and shroud. No; our truest 
kindness to them will be to endeavour, by divine grace, 
to form them to an early inquiry after God, and Christ, 
and Heaven, and a love for real goodness in all the 
forms of it which may come within their observation 
and notice. Let us apply ourselves immediately to this 
task, as those that remember there is a double uncer- 
tainty, in their lives, and in ours. In a word, let us be 
that with regard to every child that yet remains, which 
we proposed and engaged to be to that which is taken 
away; when we pleaded with God for the continuance 



ox THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 191 

of its life, at least for a little wliile, that it might be 
farther assisted in the preparations for death and eter- 
nity. If such resolutions be formed and pursued/the 
death of one may be the means of spiritual life to 
many: and we shall surely have reason to say, It is 
well, if it teach us so useful a lesson. 

4. The providence before us may have a special ten- 
dency to improve our resignation to the Divine Will; 
and if it does so, it will indeed be well. 

There is surely no imaginable situation of mind so 
sweet and so reasonable, as that which we feel when 
we humbly refer ourselves iu all things to the divine 
disposal, iu an entire suspension of our own will, see- 
ing and owning the hand of God, and bowing before it 
with a filial acquiescence. This is chiefly to be learned 
from suffering; and perhaps there is no suffering which 
is fitter to teach it, than this. In many other afflictions 
there is such a mixture of human interposition, that we 
are ready to imagine, we may be allov/ed to complain, 
and to chide a liitie. Indignation mingles itself with our 
grief; and when it does so, it warms the mind, though 
with a feverish kind of heat, and in an unnatural flov\^ ot 
spirits, leads the heart into a forgetfulness of God. Buf 
here it is so apparently his hand, that we must refer it 
to him, and it mil appear bold impiety to quarrel at 
W'hat is done. In other instances Ave can at least flatter 
ourselves with hope, that the calamity may be diverted, 
or the enjoyment recovered: but here alas! there is no 
hope. '* Tears icill not,'' as *Sir William Temple finely 
expresses it, *^ water the lovely plant so as to cause it to 
groiv again; sighs will not give it new breath, nor can 
ice furnish it icitli life and spirits by the icaste of our 
oivn,'^ The sentence is finally gone fortli, and the last 
fatal stroke irrecoverably given. Opposition is vain; a 
forced submission gives but little rest to the mind: a 
cordial acquiescence in the Divine Will is the only 
thing in tlie whole world that can ease the labouring 
heart, and restore true serenity. Remaining corruption 

* Temple's Essays, vol. i. p. ITS. 



192 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

will work on sucli an occasion, and a painful struggle 
will convince the Christian how imperfect his present 
attainments are: and this will probably lead him to an 
attentive review of the great reasons for submission; it 
will lead him to urge them on his own soul, and to plead 
them with God in prayer; till at length the storm is laid, 
and tribulation worketh patience, and patience experi- 
ence, and experience a hope which maketh not ashamed, 
while the love of God is so shed abroad in the heart, 
as to humble it for every preceding opposition, and to 
bring it even to a real approbation of all that so wise 
and good a friend hath done; resigning every other in- 
terest and enjoyment to his disposal, and sitting down 
with the sweet resolution of the prophet. Though the 
fig-tree do not blossom, and there be no fruit in the 
vine, &c. yet will I rejoice in the Lord, and joy in the 
God of my salvation. And when we are brought to 
this, the whole horizon clears, and the sun breaks forth 
in its strength. 

Now I appeal to every sincere christian in this as- 
sembly, whether there will not be reason indeed to say 
It is w ell, if by this painful affliction we more sensibly 
learn the vanity of the creature; if we are awakened to 
serious thoughts of our own latter end; if l)y it we are 
quickened in the duties of life, and formed to a more 
entire resignation of soul, and acquiescence in the Di- 
vine Will. I will only add once more, and it is a 
thought of delightful importance, 

ly. That pious parents have reason to hope, it is 
well with those dear creatures who are taken away in 
their early days. 

I see not that the word of God hath any where pass- 
ed a damnatory sentence on any infants; and if it has 
not, I am sure we have no authority to do it; especially 
considering with how much compassion the Divine 
Being speaks of them in the instance of the Ninevites, 
and on some other occasions. Perhaps, as some pious 
divines have conjectured, they may constitute a very 
considerable part of the number of the elect, and, as 
in Adam they all died, they may m Christ all be made 



ON THE DEATIi OF CHILDREN. 193 

alive. At leasts methinks, from the coveuant which God 
made with Abraham, and his seed, the blessings of 
which are come upon the believing Gentiles, there is 
reason to hope well concerning the infant offspring of 
God's people, early devoted, and often recommended to 
him, that their souls will be bound in the bundle of life, 
and be loved for their parent's sakes. 

It is, indeed, impossible for us to say, how soon chil- 
dren may be capable of contracting personal guilt. 
They are quickly able to distinguish, in some degree, 
between right and wrong; and it is too plain, that they 
as quickly, in many instances, forget the distinction. 
The corruptions of nature begin early to work, and 
shew the need of sanctifying grace; yet, without a mi- 
racle, it cannot be expected that much of the Christian 
scheme should be understood by these little creatures, 
in the first daw ning of reason, though a few evangelical 
phrases may be taught, and, sometimes, by a happy 
kind of accident, may be rightly applied. The tender 
heart of a parent may, perhaps, take a hint, from hence 
to terrify itself, and exasperate all its otlier sorrows, by 
that sad thought, " What if my dear child be perished 
" for ever? gone from our embraces, and all the little 
^* pleasures we could give it, to everlasting darkness 
" and pain?*' Horrible imagination! and Satan may, 
perhaps, take the advantage of these gloomy moments, 
to aggravate every little infirmity into a crime, and to 
throw us into agony, which no other view of the afflic- 
tion can possibly give, to a soul penetrated with a sense 
of eternity. Nor do I know a thought, in the whole 
compass of nature, that hath a more powerful tendency 
to produce suspicious notions of God, and a secret alien- 
ation of heart from him. 

Now for this very reason, methinks, we should guard 
against so harsh a conclusion, lest Ave, at once, injure 
the Divine Being, and torture ourselves. And, surely, 
we may easily fall on some reflections which may en- 
courage our hopes, where little children are concerned; 
and it is only of that case that I am now speaking. Let 

25 



194 SUiSMISSION TO DIVINE PROYIDENCE, 

us think of the blessed God, as the great parent of uni- 
versal nature; whose tender mercies are over a\\ his 
works; who declares that judgment is his strange work; 
who is very pitiful^ and of tender mercy, gracious and 
full of compassion; who delighteth in mercy; who wait- 
eth to be gracious; and endureth, with much long suf- 
fering, even the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction. 
He intimately knows our frame, and our circumstances; 
he sees the weakness of the unformed mind; how forci- 
bly the volatile spirits are struck with a thousand new 
amusing objects around it, and borne away as a feather 
before the wind; and, on the other hand, how, when dis- 
tempers seize it, the feeble powers are overborne in a 
moment, and rendered incapable of any degree of ap- 
plication and attention. And, Lord, wilt thou open 
thine eyes on such a one, to bring it into strict judg- 
ment wdtli thee? xlmidst all the instances of thy patience, 
and thy bounty, to the most abandoned of mankind, are 
these little helpless creatures the objects of thy speedy 
vengeance, and final severity? 

Let us farther consider, as it is a very comfortable 
thought in these circumstances, the compassionate re- 
gard which the blessed Jesus expressed to little chil- 
dren. He w«Ls much displeased with those who forbad 
their being brought to him; and said. Suffer them to 
come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the 
kingdom of God; and taking them up in his arms, he 
laid his hands upon them, and blessed them. In another 
instance we are told, that he took a little child, (who 
appears to have been old enough to come at his call) and 
set him in the midst of his disciples, and said. Except 
ye become as little children, you shall in no wise enter 
into the kingdom of Heaven. May we not then hope 
that many little children are admitted into it? And may 
not that hope be greatly confirmed from whatever, of 
an amiable and regular disposition, we have observed 
in those that are taken away? If we have seen^ a ten- 
derness of conscience, in any thing which they appre- 

* I bless God, all these thing's were very evident in that dear childi 
whose death occasioned this discourse. 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 195 

hend would displease the gi-eat and good God; a love 
to truth; a readhiess to attend on divine worship, from 
some imperfect notion of its general design, though the 
particulars of it could not be understood; an open, can- 
did, benevolent heart; a tender sense of obligation, and 
a desire, according to their little power, to repay it; may 
we not hope that these were some of the first fruits of 
the Spirit, which he would, in due time, have ripened 
into Christian graces, and are now, on a sudden, per- 
fected by that great Almighty Agent who worketh all, 
and in all? 

Sure I am, that this blessed Spirit hath no incon- 
siderable work to perform on the most established Chris- 
tians, to finish them to a complete meetness for the hea- 
venly world; would to God, there were no greater ble- 
mishes to be observed in their character, than the little 
vanities of children! With infinite ease then can he per- 
fect what is lacking in their unfinished minds, and pour 
out upon them, in a moment, that light and grace, which 
shall qualify them for a state, in comparison of which^ 
ours on earth is but childhood or infancy. 

Now what a noble source of consolation is here! 
Then may the affectionate parent say, " It is well, not 
^^ only with me, but with the child too: incomparably 
^^ better than if my ardent wishes, and importunate 
^^ prayers for its recovery, had been answered. It is in- 
'' deed well, if that beloved creature be fallen asleep in 
^' Christ; if that dear lamb be folded in the arms of 
^^the compassionate shepherd, and gathered into his 
'^ gracious bosom. Self-love might have led me to wish 
^' its longer continuance here; but if I truly loved my 
^' child with a solid, rational affection, I should much 
" rather rejoice, to think it is gone to a heavenly Father, 
^^ and to the world of perfected Spirits above. Had it 
^' been spared to me, how slowly could I have taught it! 
^' and in the full ripeness of its age, what had it been, 
^' when compared with what it now is! How is it shot 
^' up on a sudden, from the converse and the toys of 
^' children, to be a companion with saints and angels, in 
<^ the employment, and the blessedness of heaven! Shall 



196 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDET^CE, 

^^ I then complain of it as a rii^orous severity to my fa- 
^' mily, that God hath taken it to the family above? And 
^^ what if he hath chosen to bestow the distinguished 
'' favour on that one of ray little flock, who was formed 
'' to take the tenderest hold of my heart? Was there 
^^unkindness in that? What if he saw, that the very 
'' sprightliness and softness Avhich made it to me so ex- 
^^ quisitely delightful, might, in time, have betrayed it 
^' into ruin; and took this method of sheltering it from 
^' trials, which had otherwise been too hard for it, and so 
" fixing a seal on its character and happiness? What if 
'' that strong attachment of my heart to it, had been a 
^' snare to the child, and to me? Or what if it had been 
^^ otherwise? Do I need additional reasons to justify the 
'^Divine conduct, in an instance which my child is cele- 
^' brating in the songs of heaven? If it is a new and un- 
^^ tasted affliction to have such a tender branch lopped 
'' off, it is also a new honour to be the parent of a glo- 
^^ rifled saint.'^ And, as good Mr. Howe expressed it 
on another occasion, " If God be pleased, and his glo- 
^' rifled creature be pleased, who are we that we should 
^^be displeased?'' ^- 

" Could I wish, that this young inhabitant of hea- 
^^ ven should be degraded to earth again? Or would it 
" thank me for that wish? Would it say, that it was the 
^^ part of a wise parent, to call it down from a sphere of 
^^ such exalted services and pleasures, to our low life 
^' here upon earth? Let me rather be thankful for the 
^^ pleasing hope, that though God loves my child too 
^' w^ell to permit it to return to me, he will ere long 
^^ bring me to it. And then that endeared paternal affec- 
^' tion, which would have been a cord to tie me to earth, 
^' and have added new pangs to my removal from it, 
^^ will be as a golden chain to draw me upwards, and add 
^' one farther charm and joy even to Paradise itself/^ 
And oh, how great a joy! to view the change, and to 
compare that dear idea, so fondly laid up, so often re- 
Viewed, with the now glorious original, in the improve- 

* Howe's Life, page 32, folio editioiio 



ON THE J315ATI1 OF CHjJUDUEN. I9r 

ments of the upper world! To borrow the words of the 
sacred writer^ in a very different sense; ^'I said, I was 
"desolate and bereaved of children, and who hath 
" brought up these? I was left alone, and these, where 
^Miave they been? Was this my desolation? this my 
^' sorrow? to part with thee for a few days, that I might 
^^ receive thee for ever, and find thee what thou art!'^ 
It is for no language, but that of heaven, to describe the 
sacred joy which such a meeting must occasion. 

In the mean time, Christians, let us keep up the lively 
expectation of it, and let what has befallen us draw our 
thoughts upwards. Perhaps they will sometimes, before 
we are aware, sink to the grave, and dwell in the tombs 
that contain the poor remains of what was once' so dear 
to us. But let them take flight from thence to more no- 
ble, more delighted scenes. And I will add, let the 
hope we have of the happiness of our children render 
God still dearer to our souls. We feel a very tender 
sense of the kindness which our friends expressed to- 
wards them, and think, indeed very justly, that their 
affectionate care for them lays a lasting obligation upon 
us. What love then, and what service do we owe to thee, 
Oh, gracious Father, who hast, we hope, received them 
into thine house above, and art now entertaining them 
there with unknown delight, thougli our former methods 
of commerce with them be cut off! "'Lord,'^ should 
each of us say in such a case, ^^I would take what thou 
^^ art doing to my child as done to myself, and as a spe- 
^' cimen and earnest of what shall shortly be done.^' It 
is therefore welL 

It only remains, that I conclude with a few hints of 
farther improvement. 

1. Let pious parents, who have lost hopeful children 
in maturer age, join with others in saying. It is well. 

My friends, the reasons which I have been urging 
at large, are common to you with us; and permit me to 
add, that as your case has its peculiar distress, it has, I 
think, in a yet greater degree, its peculiar consolations 
too. 



198 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

I know you will say, that it is inexpressibly grievous 
and painfid, to part with children who were grown up 
into most amiable friends, who were your companions 
in the Avays of God, and concerning whom you had a 
most agreeable prospect, that they would have been the 
.ornaments and supports of religion in the rising age, and 
extensive blessings to the world, long after you had 
quitted it. These reasonings have, undoubtedly, their 
weight; and they have so, when considered in a very 
different view. Must you not acknowledge it is well, 
that you enjoyed so many years of comfort in them? that 
you reaped so much solid satisfaction from them? and 
saw those evidences of a work of grace upon their hearts, 
which give you such abundant reason to conclude that 
they are now received into that inheritance of glory, for 
which they were so apparently made meet? Some of 
them^ perhaps, had already quitted tiieir Father's house: 
as for others, had God spared their lives, they might 
have been transplanted into families of their own: and if, 
instead of being removed to another house, or town, or 
country, they are taken by God into another world, is 
that a matter of so great complaint; when that world is 
so much better, and you are yourselves so near it? I put 
it to your hearts, Christians, would you rather have cho- 
sen to have buried them in their infancy, or never to have 
known the joys and the hopes of a parent, now you know 
the vicissitudes of sorrow, and of disappointment? But 
perhaps, you will say, that you chiefly grieve for that 
loss which the world has sustained by the removal of 
those, from whom it might reasonably have expected 
so much future service. This is, indeed, a generous and 
a christian sentiment, and there is something noble in 
those tears which flow on such a consideration. But do 
not so remember your relation to earth, as to forget that 
which you bear to heaven; and do not so wrong the di- 
vine wisdom and goodness, as to suppose, that when 
he takes away from hence promising instruments of ser- 
vice, he there lays them by as useless. Much more rea- 
sonable is it to conclude, that their sphere of a,ctiou^ as 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 199 

\vell as happiness, is enlarged, and that the church 
above hath gained incomparably more, than that below 
can be supposed to have lost by their death. 

On the whole, therefore, far from complaining of the 
divine conduct in this respect, it will become you, my 
friends, rather to be very thankful that these dear chil- 
dren were spared so long, to accompany and entertain 
you in so many stages of your short journey through 
life, to answer so many of your hopes, and to establish 
so many more beyond all fear of disappointment. Re- 
flect on all that God did in and upon them, on all he 
was beginning to do by them, and on what you have 
great reason to believe he is now doing for them; and 
adore his name, that he has left you these dear memo- 
rials, by which your case is so happily distinguished 
from ours, whose hopes in our children withered in the 
very bud; or from theirs, who saw those who v/ere once 
so dear to them, perishing, as they have cause to fear^ 
in the paths of the destroyer. 

But while I speak thus, methinks I am alarmed, lest 
I should awaken the far more grievous sorrows of some 
mournful parent, whom it will not be so easy to com- 
fort. My brethren and friends, what shall I say to you, 
who are lamenting over your Absaloms, and almost 
wishing you had died for them? Shall I urge you to say 
It is well? Perhaps you may think it a great attain- 
ment, if, like Aaron, when his sons died before the 
Lord, you can hold your peace, under the awful stroke. 
My soul is troubled for you; my words are almost swal- 
lowed up. Yet let me remind you of this, that you do 
not certainly know ^vhat Almighty grace might do for 
these lamented creatures, even in the latest moments, 
and have therefore no warrant confidently to pronounce 
that they are assuredly perished. And if you cannot 
but tremble in the too probable fear of it, labour to turn 
your eyes from so dark a prospect to those better hopes 
which God is setting before you. For surely you still 
have abundant reason to rejoice in that grace, which 
gives your own lives to you as a prey, and has brought 
you so near to that blessed world, where, hard as it is 



200 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

now to conceive it, you will have laid aside every af- 
fection of nature, which interferes with the interests of 
God, and prevents your most cheerful acquiescence in 
every particular of his wise and gracious determina- 
tions. 

2. From what we have heard, let us learn not to 
think of the loss of our children with a slavish dread. 

It is to a parent indeed such a cutting stroke, that 
I wonder not if nature shrink back at the very mention 
of it: and, perhaps, it would make those to whom God 
hath denied children more easy, if they knew what some 
of the happiest parents feel in an uncertain apprehension 
of the loss of theirs: an apprehension which strikes Avith 
peculiar force on the mind, when experience liath taught 
us the anguish of such an affliction in former instances. 
But let us not anticipate evils: perhaps all our children, 
who are hitherto spared, may follow us to the grave: or 
if otherwise, we sorrow not as those who have no hope. 
We may have reason still to say. It is well; and through 
divine grace, we may also have hearts to say it. What- 
ever we lose, if we be the children of God, we shall ne- 
ver lose our heavenly Father. He will still be our sup- 
port, and our joy. And therefore, let us turn all our 
anxiety a])out uncertain, future events, into an holy so- 
licitude to please him, and to promote religious im- 
pressions in the hearts of our dear offspring; that if God 
should see fit to take them away, we may have a claim 
to the full consolations, which I have been representing 
in the preceding discourse. 

3. Let us not sink in hopeless sorrow, or break out 
into clamorous complaints, if God has brought this hea- 
vy affliction upon us. 

A stupid indifference would be absurd and unnatu- 
ral: God and man might look upon us as acting a most 
unworthy part, should we be like the ostrich in the wil- 
derness, which hardeneth herself against her young 
ones, as if they were not hers; because God hath de- 
prived her of wisdom, neither hath he imparted to her 
understanding. Let us sorrow like men, and like pa- 
rents; but let us not, in the mean time, forget that we 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. £01 

are Christians. Let us remember how common the cala- 
mity is; few parents are exempt from it; some of the 
most pious and excellent have lost amiable children, 
with circumstances perhaps of peculiar aggravation. It 
is a trial which God hath chosen for the exercise of some 
who have been eminently dear to him, as we may learn 
from a variety of instances both ancient and modern. 
Let us recollect our many offences against our heavenly 
Father, those sins which such a dispensation may pro- 
perly bring to our remembrance; and let that silence 
us, and teach us to own, that it is of the Lord^s mercies 
we are not consumed, and that we are punished less 
than our iniquities deserve. Let us look round on our 
surviving comforts; let us look forward to our future, 
our eternal hopes; and we shall surely see, that there is 
still room for praise, still a call for it. Let us review 
the particulars mentioned above, and then let conscience 
determine whether it doth not become us, in this par- 
ticular instance, to say it steadily, and cheerfully too, 
even this is well. And may the Grod of all grace and 
comfort apply these considerations to our mind, that we 
may not only own them, but feel them, as a reviving 
cordial when our heart is overwhelmed within us! lu 
the mean time, let me beseech you whose tabernacles 
are in peace, and whose children are yet about you, 
that you would not be severe in censuring our tears, till 
you have experimentally known our sorrows, and your- 
selves tasted the wormwood and the gall, which we, 
with all our comforts, must have in a long and bitter 
remembrance. 

4. Let those of us who are under the rod, be very 
solicitous to improve it aright, that in the end it may 
indeed be well. 

Hear, my brethren, my friends and fellow-sufferers, 
hear and suffer the word of exhortation. Let us be much 
concerned, that we may not bear all the smart of such 
an affliction, and, through our own folly, lose all that 
benefit which might, otherwise, be a rich equivalent, la 
proportion to the grieyousness of the stroke, should be 

26 



202 SUBMISSION TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE, 

our care to attend to the design of it. Let us^ now God 
is calling us to mourning and lamentation, be searching 
and trying our ways, that we may turn again unto the 
Lord. Let us review the conduct of our lives, and the 
state and tenor of our aJBTections, that we may observe 
what hath been deficient, and what irregular; that pro- 
per remedies may be applied, and those important les- 
sons more thoroughly learnt, which I was mentioning 
under the former branch of my discourse. Let us pray, 
that through our tears we may read our duty, and that 
by the heat of the furnace we may be so melted, that 
our dross may be purged away, and the divine image 
instamped on our souls in brighter and fairer characters. 
To sum up all in one word, let us endeavour to set our 
hearts more on that God, who is infinitely better to us 
than ten children, who hath given us a name better than 
that of sons and daughters, and can abundantly supply 
the place of all earthly eujoyments with the rich com- 
munications of his grace: nay, perhaps, we may add, 
who hath removed some darling of our hearts, lest to 
our infinite detriment it should fill his place there, and, 
by alienating us from his love and service, have a fatal 
influence on our present peace, and our future happi- 
ness. 

Eternal glory, my friends, is so great a thing, and 
the complete love and enjoyment of God so unuttera- 
bly desirable, that it is well worth our while to bear the 
sharpest sorrows, by which we may be more perfectly 
formed for it. We may even congratulate the death of 
our children, if it bring us nearer to our heavenly Fa- 
ther; and teach us, (instead of filling this vacancy in our 
heart with some new vanity, which may shortly rencAV 
our sorrows) to consecrate the whole of it to him who 
alone deserves, and can alone answer the most intense 
affection. Let us try what of this kind may be done. 
We are now going to the table of the Lord,*^ to that 
very table where our vows have often been sealed, where 
our comforts have often been resigned, where our Isaacs 

• N. B, This Sermon was preached October 3, 1786, it being Sacra- 
ment Day. The child died October I. 



ON THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. 203 

have been conditionally sacrificed^ and where we com- 
memorate the real sacrifice which God hath made even 
of his only begotten Son for us. May our other sorrows 
be suspended, while we mourn for him whom we have 
pierced, as for an only Son, and are in bitterness as for 
a first-born. From his blood consolations spring up, 
which will flourish even on the graves of our dear chil- 
dren; and the sweetness of that cup which he there gives 
us, will temper the most distasteful ingredients of the 
other. Our houses are not so with God, as they once 
were, as we once expected they would have been, but 
he hath made with us an everlasting covenant, and these 
are the tokens of it. Blessed be his name, we hold not 
the mercies of that covenant by so precarious a tenure 
as the life of any creature: It is well ordered in all things 
and sure: may it be all our salvation, and all our desire; 
and then it is but a little while, and all our complaints 
will cease. God will wipe away these tears from our 
eyes; our peaceful and happy spirits shall ere long meet 
with those of our children which he hath taken to him- 
self. Our bodies shall sleep, and ere long shall also 
awake, and arise with theirs. Death, that inexorable de- 
stroyer, shall be sw allowed up in victory, while we and 
ours surround the throne with everlasting Hallelu- 
jahs, and own, with another evidence than we can now 
perceive, with another spirit than we can now express^ 
that all was indeed w ell. Amen. 



EXTRACT 
FROM A DISCOURSE 

BY THE REV, ARCHIBALD MJICLMJ^E, D, ID, 

I. With respect to the visible or material worlds 
what an elevated pleasure, similar to that of the Psalm- 
ist's in our text, must arise in the religious mind, when 
it contemplates the wisdom, power, and goodness which 
are displayed in the earth, and in the vault of heaven^ 
with such beauty and magnificence! But it is the reli- 
gious mind alone which enjoys this pleasure truly and 
fully; because it arises from the grand effects to the 
wonderful cause, and sees in that cause the gracious 
and benevolent Being who is mindful of man. The me- 
chanical sophistry of the atheist, and even the gloomy 
doubtings of the sceptic, tarnish the beauty of nature^ 
and leave the mind dark, anxious, and uncomforta- 
ble, amidst all its charms: nor does the merely nominal^ 
professor of religion, who meditates little upon the di- 
vine perfections and government, see the world in a 
much better light. He scarcely derives any higher en- 
joyment from it, than as it contributes to the support 
of animal life, and the gratification of his external sen- 
ses. This is not the case of the religious man: he con- 
siders the heavens as declaring the glory of the Lord^ and 
the earth as full of the inches of its maker: be observes 
the benign influence of the Almighty, warming in the 
sun, refreshing in the air, glowing in the stars, and dif- 
fusing life, intelligence, and well-being, in various de- 
grees, through his universal empire. These views ex- 
cite veneration and a pleasing kind of astonishment; 
they nourish gratitude, hope, confidence; and thus pro- 
duce the most joyful emotions of which the human 
heart is susceptible. 

Secondly, Consider the different views which the 
religious man, and the man who lives idthout God in 



206 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

the worldf must liave^ respectively, of tlieir existence 
and condition in this present state. The former, seeing 
God in all things, looks up to him, in nature, as a pro- 
vidential protector, and in redemption and grace, as a 
father and a friend. He views his present state as a 
scene of infancy and trial; and even its evils and pains, 
as the dispensations of paternal wisdom and goodness, 
for the exercise of virtue, and the correction of moral 
disorder. In this friendly aspect of nature and grace he 
humbly acquiesces, and even goes on his way rejoicing 
in expectation and hope. But to the man who is desti- 
tute of religious principles, these comforting views are 
unknown. He is, as it were, in a fatherless world, with 
no security for the continuance of his enjoyments, and 
no resource, when they are succeeded, in the instability 
of external things, by disappointment and sorrow. Lit- 
tle accustomed to exercise and nourish his faith in that 
supreme goodness, wisdom, and power, which are the 
stable foundations of hope and confidence, he ascribes 
the evils he suffers to accidental causes, which, instead 
of alleviating, exasperate their pains: and he is deprived 
of the consolation and support which arise from a per- 
suasion, that the great Being who fills immensity, is 
mindful of man. 

Consider, thirdly, how peculiarly interesting society, 
friendship, and domestic relations are rendered by reli- 
gious views — by the consideration, that God is mindful 
of man. When the good man considers his friends and 
relatives, as the offspring of one Supreme Parent, as fel- 
low-members with him of the great family of God, this 
point of view renders, surely, the ties of nature still 
more tender; the bonds of friendslrp more interesting 
and delicious; the feelings of humanity still more liberal 
and extensive. In this point of view, the good man con- 
siders his connexions with the righteous as immortal. 
There is no worthy and eminent character, with whom 
he has conversed, or whose virtues have been recorded 
in history, whom he may not hope to meet, one day, in 
that paternal and celestial house, where there are many 
mansions. In this view of the great family of God, as 



BY THE REV. DR. MACLAINE. 207 

having only its commencement here below, and consi- 
dering himself as a member of this family, his mind, 
while he runs his race upon earth, is elevated with the 
prospect of a nobler society, and the hopes of arising to 
a sublimer sphere of action and felicity, in the kingdom 
of his Father. No such prospects embellish or ennoble 
the connexions of the irreligious man with his fellow- 
creatures in a present world. He considers the human 
race as a set of beings, who came into existence he 
knows not Jioiv^ and who, successively disappearing, 
pass lie knows not where, nor for what purpose. In this 
view of the human race, unconnected with an almighty 
and benevolent Creator, the amiable ties between pa- 
rents, children, brothers, friends, and all the other en- 
dearing relations of human society, are transient and 
precarious connexions — connexions of a short and un- 
certain duration here, with no prospect of a renewal 
hereafter, in more improved forms and happier situa- 
tions. This, where all reflection and forecast are not 
banished, sheds an uncomfortable gloom on the present 
scene of human life, and covers, with thick and painful 
darkness, the departing moment. 

What language, then, can express the frenzy of 
those, who voluntarily deprive themselves of the com- 
fort and delight which arise from a persuasion that the 
Great Being, who formed the universe, is mindful of 
man, and will direct the course and secure the true in- 
terests of his faithful servants, in all the periods of their 
eternal duration? While they banish him from their 
thoughts — while they close their eyes on the empire of 
his providence, the authority of his laws, the manifesta- 
tions of his mercy, and the offer of his grace, they for- 
feit the most rational and solid comforts of a present 
life, and the sublime hopes of life eternal. 

Let us therefore guard against every thing that can 
have a tendency to exclude us from the protection of 
this glorious Being, and secure his favour by faith in his 
promises, and sincere efforts to obey his holy and righ- 
teous laws. Let us consider how vain all projects of 
happiness must be^ which we Ibrni without an humble 



£08 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE, &c. 

dependance on Him, who is the only source of all true 
felicity. He, who can embitter the joys of prosperity, 
and soften the anguish of adversity and sorrow — He, 
who can make all the events of time contribute to the 
happiness of his faithful servants, in endless scenes of 
existence — He surely ought to be the supreme object of 
our pious regard, in all the duties, events, trials, and 
relations of human life. No state or condition, however 
painful, can render us unhappy, while we enjoy his fa- 
vour, his direction, and guidance; and the most splen- 
did scenes of external prosperity will be ineffectual for 
our comfort, when these are withdrawn, and his gra- 
cious presence is removed from us for ever. His pre- 
sence, indeed, is every where: but how different are its 
aspects to the righteous, who respect his laws, and the 
perverse and disobedient, who insult his government! 
To the former, it is a source of light and power, to 
direct and maintain them in their way: to the latter, it 
is an object of disquietude and apprehension, if ever it 
comes across their thoughts. It will carry the righteous 
persevering and triumphant thi'ough the changes of life, 
and through the valley of the shadow of death; it will 
raise them from their rank below the angels, to the soci- 
ety and happiness of these glorious beings, and to eter- 
nal communion with Father^ Son, and Holy Ghost; to 
whom, &c. 



THE CHRISTIANS CONSOLATION 

IN THE 

HOUR OF DOMESTIC DISTRESS. 

A Discourse read to the Author's Family, soon after the Death 
of a beloved, and most affectionate wife, who died in child- 
bed. 

BY A LAFMAA". 
ADVERTISEMENT. 



The following passages are the result of those moments in 
which the author's mind was suffering under the severest trial 
of human fortitude. They were suggested as the only present 
means of alleviating that weight of distress which pressed 90 
heavily on his heart; and he had the consolation to find, that 
whilst the committing his thoughts to paper afforded a kind of 
mechanical relief to the immediate pressure of afflicting sensa- 
tions, the directing them into that channel wherein the hope of 
every Christian flows, was productive of a, degree of placid so- 
lace to his sorrow, which the condolence of friends, and all the 
usual modes of commiseration were totally incapable of effect- 
ing 

They are now published as a melancholy memorial of the 
modest virtues of her whose memory will ever be dear to the 
author, and whose loved image will never be effaced from his 
breast; nor will the heavy loss of her endearing society, and 
gentle manners ever cease to be sincerely regretted and greatly 
lamented by him. 

Should the publication of these sentiments fortunately pro- 
duce a surplus, it is his intention to apply that surplus to some 
charitable purpose; and if the perusal of them should prove in 
the least consolatory to any one in similar circumstances, his 
great aim will be accomplished. He will then have the satisfac- 
tion of seeing the sad cause of his affliction producing what the 
open hand and benevolent heart of its valued object would have 
effected; viz. relief to the wants of the necessitous, and comfort 
to the anguish of wounded sensibility. 

27 



210 THE CHRISTIANAS CONSOLATION. 



DISCOURSE. 

The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the 
name of the Lord! — Joh^ i. 21. 

The words here made use of by holy Job, are not 
only most beautifully expressive of the ideas which gave 
them birth, but at the same time they present to our 
imagination such a picture of the exemplary patience 
and heavenly resignation of Job's mind, at the time of 
their utterance, as cannot fail to interest our feelings in 
his behalf, and to claim our earnest imitation, should 
the hand of the Almighty afflict us in a similar manner. 
The more we reflect on the happiness and splendour of 
his situation, prior to his afflictions, the more we shall 
reverence and admire his unfeigned submission to the 
Divine Will, under their grievous weight. 

We are told that he was abundantly favoured with 
the temporal gifts of Providence. His possessions were 
ample, his situation elevated, his affairs prosperous, in 
every respect, and he had a numerous family of children; 
which last circumstance was looked upon, in those days, 
as a peculiar blessing. Hence we may easily conceive 
how lively must have been the sensations of this holy 
man's heart, towards his beneficent Creator, thus highly 
favoured with uninterrupted prosperity. — His grateful 
soul, no doubt, poured forth incessantly its pious effu- 
sions to the Giver of all goodness, expressive of the 
high sense he entertained of such pre-eminent distinc- 
tion; and though, by reflecting on the instability of hu- 
man affairs, he might be prepared, in the midst of his 
felicity, for a small reverse of fortune, it is hardly pro- 
bable that he should think his Heavenly Benefactor 
would at once withdraw all his favours. What, then, 
must have been the anguish of his mind, when one in- 
formed him, that the Sabeans had carried off all his 
herd; (for flocks and herds were then the riches of man- 
kind) another, that all his sheep were destroyed by fire 
from heaven; another, that the Chaldeans had captured 



THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. Sll 

his camels; and, to crown the whole, a fourth told him, 
that all his children were unfortunately buried under 
the ruins of the house where they were feasting? — By 
these heavy disasters he was at once bereft of the Avealth 
which made him respectable abroad, and of his beloved 
oflPspring, who formed his happiness at home. In one 
short day, from the envied height of affluence, was he 
plunged into cheerless poverty; and, from being the 
happy father of ten loved children, had he to encounter 
the gloomy prospect of passing the wane of life uncom- 
forted by the endearments of filial affection, and of go- 
ing down to the grave unlamented by any to whom he 
had given life. Yet under the dreadful affliction of these 
complicated misfortunes, what does he say? — "\N*akeA 
" came I out of my mothers womb, and naked shall I 
" return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
'' away; blessed he the name of the LovdP^ 

This striking picture of patience and resignation, 
ought not only to excite our admiration, but to influence 
our conduct. It was exhibited for our instruction; let us 
not pass by it unbenefited. It holds forth to our imitation 
that gratitude of heart, and that humility of mind, which 
the holy gospel inculcates in every page, as the leading 
features of the christian character; and happy, super- 
latively happy shall he be who shall faithfully copy so 
amiable an original! 

The words which are prefixed to our present dis- 
course naturally divide themselves into three distinct 
heads: 

First, The Lord gave. — In these three words Job 
expresses his grateful acknowledgment of the goodness 
of Grod, in bestowing on him the many and great bless- 
ings he had heretofore enjoyed, though at that time he 
suffered most giievously under a sudclen deprivation of 
them. This ought to lead us to contemplate with the 
most lively emotions every instance of the divine bene- 
ficence vouchsafed unto us; to render unfeigned thanks 
for the possession of it; and humbly to implore the con- 
tinuance of it to us, so long as it may be consistent with 
our eternal welfare. And that every one of us does ex- 



«12 THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

perience such instances of God's goodness towards his 
creatures no one will be hardy enough to deny, who 
considers seriously his situation and circumstances. 
Are we rich, or live with ease and comfort in the world, 
how ought we to adore the Divine Disposer of human 
events for thus blessing us with temporal distinctions; 
and how much ought those distinctions to inspire us 
with superior zeal for the service of God, in gratitude 
for the superior gifts bestowed on us! That we ought 
not to be proud of such superiority, nor value too much 
worldly benefits, is a truth which should never be out 
of our minds; for to whom much is given, of him much 
will be required; and temporal advantages are but too 
often snares to our steps, and stumbling-blocks in our 
way to eternal life. The mind, elevated by prosperity, is 
but too apt to forget God, from whom that prosperity 
was derived; and to figure to itself ideas of self-import- 
ance, and dreams of sublunary bliss independent of, 
and perhaps incompatible with, that final state of real 
exaltation and permanent felicity which the soul hopes 
to enjoy, when all the pleasures of sense, and all the 
transitory joys of this life are passed away, like the 
fleeting cloud. Nor, indeed, do prosperous circumstances 
always produce even temporal happiness. Things are so 
situated in this world, that every good has its attendant 
evil, every pleasure its attendant pain; and it is owing to 
the goodness of the Almighty that many evils have their 
attendant good; and perhaps every evil, if not immedi- 
ately is relatively so attended. Thus riches are general- 
ly acquired with restless cares, and are often possessed 
with an anxiety of heart very far from indicating that 
tranquillity in the possessor which the external decora- 
tions of rank and power would insinuate. On the other 
hand, poverty is not without its comforts. If the daily 
bread of the poor man be hardly earned by the sweat of 
his brow, he has the consolation of being exempt from 
the stings of disappointed ambition, and the selfish crav- 
ings of insatiable avarice. If his body be fatigued with 
the labour of procuring its support, his mind is at ease, 
and placidly enjoys the little conveniences which a. gnc- 



THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 213 

cious Providence has placed within his reach. If his 
limbs be weary, his sleep is the sounder and the more 
refreshing. Hence it is evident that poverty is not the 
evil some people are led to imagine. It has its peculiar 
consolations antl enjoyments, which the sons of sensua- 
lity and riot cannot taste, and thence becomes a positive 
good, for which our thanks are due to God, who is the 
kind giver of every good we enjoy; from the ill-estima- 
ted possessions of the rich and powerful, down to the 
really valuable comforts of the poor and needy; amongst 
the latter of which must be reckoned health, that great- 
est of sublunary blessings, without which affluence is 
but splendid misery, and indigence is poverty indeed. 
Let us, therefore, be thankful for every thing we pos- 
sess, and consider it as the gift of the Almighty; for 
however large, however small our possessions may be, 
we must acknowledge that the Lord gave; and as they 
are undoubtedly derived from the goodness, they ought 
to be enjoyed by us with reverence, humility, and gra- 
titude. 

This leads us to the second consideration; namely, 
the loss of what we have been accustomed to regard as 
essential to our interest, or necessary to our happiness. 
In the most afflicting circumstance of this nature which, 
perhaps, ever happened to man, the patient and humble 
sufferer, whose words we have quoted, piously exclaims, 
the Lord hath taken away! 

There is no doubt but the feelings of Job were as 
acute as those of other men, and that he did not receive 
the news of his unparalleled misfortunes without tlie 
most exquisite sensations; which is, indeed, confirmed 
to us by the impassioned manner and pathetic style of 
his replies to the severe remonstrances of his pretend- 
ed comforters; yet the high sense he entertained of his 
duty to that God, whose justice he did not dare to im- 
peach, prevailed on him to check the anguish of his 
heart, even in this most afflicting visitation, and hum- 
bly to console himself with the reflection, that the Lord 
had only taken from him, in liis wisdom, w hat he had 
before bestowed on him, in his goodness; and that as it 



214 THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

was the Divine Will that he should suffer^, it was high- 
ly incumbent on him to submit, without a murmur of 
disapprobation. 

Here, then, is another lesson for our instruction. If 
we have before learnt to praise God for his goodness, 
in bestowing upon us and permitting us to enjoy what- 
ever may be classed amongst the comforts or conveni- 
ences of life: and not less to thank him, with grateful 
hearts, for the enjoyment of that common, though most 
important of earthly blessings, corporeal health and 
mental tranquillity; we are here equally instructed how 
much it is our duty to submit, with patience and resig- 
nation, to his divine dispensations, even at the moment 
they wrest from us every thing estimable in the eyes 
of mankind, and shut out every ray of hope from our 
gloomy mansion. We are never to forget that the Lord 
gavBf and the Lord hath taken away. 

When we receive good at his hands, do we refuse to 
enjoy it? — and when it pleaseth him to withdraw his 
gifts, who shall dare to remonstrate? — God bestows his 
favours gratuitously, without money and without price; 
we can neither claim them as our right, nor merit them 
by our services; if, then, our best thanks are due for 
what we receive, without title or desert, surely our pa- 
tient submission is required when those gratuitous fa- 
voui's are withdrawn from us. If in our prosperity we 
exclaim, with grateful exultation, the Lord gave/ let us 
be equally solicitous, in our adversity, patiently and 
humbly to reflect that it is the Lord hath taken away! 

And this brings us to the latter part of the words we 
have selected, in which Job finishes the picture of his 
piety and humility, by exclaiming, with an ardor of de- 
votion, which the highest sense of the justice as well as 
the goodness of God could alone inspire. Blessed he the 
name of the Lord! This passionate and devout excla- 
mation was made, too, at the very moment that his 
mind was torn by the most agonizing afflictions, on the 
all which he had lost. But, as he says in another place, 
shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we 
not receive evil! — In other words, shall God give us of 



THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 215 

this world's possessions, for our temporal happiness^ 
and shall he not deprive us of them when they seem, to 
his unerring eye, inconsistent with our eternal felicity, 
or to answer some other wise purpose of his provi- 
dence? — And this construction I think the passage will 
bear: for though the terms good and evil, made use of 
by Job in this place, have a temporal signification only, 
there is no doubt but he had in view, at the time of his 
thus ardently blessing God, that eternal retribution, 
w^hich we so anxiously expect in another world, to heal 
the wounds of his heart, and make ample amends for 
the evil he suiFered in this. 

That the conferring of benefits should excite gratitude 
in the human breast, is nothing exti^aordinary: but that 
the deprivation of them, when once conferred, or, as 
Job expresses it, the recdmng of evil, should cause in 
the heart emotions of admiration and praise, is not to 
be accounted for without a reference to some expecta- 
tion of future good, which may counterbalance the pre- 
sent evil. And this expectation in us, is the very reason 
M by we are called upon to submit patiently to every 
dispensation of an All-wise Providence, however we 
may suffer thereby: for we cannot, without a shocking- 
imputation on the divine goodness, suppose that God 
would afflict his creatures Avithout cause or motive. If 
he brings temporal evils upon us, to wean us from the 
world, and to duect our minds to the higher concern of 
eternity, how ought we, with gratitude, to kiss the rod 
of affliction, and bless the hand which chastises us! But 
if we look further, and discover that such evils are in- 
tended as the punishment of our sins, to reclaim our 
hearts, and to awaken in us a sense of the dreadful dan- 
ger of our situation, how much more ought we to pour 
out the most grateful effusions of our hearts towards 
God, for his great mercy, in thus substituting a tempo- 
ral suffering for those offences, which, but for such gra- 
cious interposition, had probably brought upon us eter- 
nal perdition! 

And these considerations, whilst they teach us to 
submit, with pious resignation, to the will of Providence. 



a\6 lllK CMUISTIA^-s CONSOLATION. 

under positive evils, should also induce us to be very 
cautious not to create in our minds imaj^inary ones; 
such as being dissatisfied with our situations in life; 
gra,sping at gratifications perhaps providentially set out 
t)f our reach; and repining that others appear to be hap- 
pier or more prosperous than ourselves. To be content- 
ed with our lot in life is tiie first step towards the attain- 
ment of that happiness which is the grand aim of every 
human being: but though all concur in aiming at this 
delusive object, yet the means employed in the pursuit 
of it are as various as the tempers and dispositions of 
its pursuers. Every thinking person can perceive that 
real happiness is not to be met with on this side the 
grave, and yet how anxiously do all of us exert our- 
selves, to tlie utmost of our power, in constant efforts 
to obtain it here, though every day's experience con- 
vinces us of the fruitlessness of our pursuit. The poor 
think it consists in being rich; the rich imagine it con- 
sists in magnificence or power; and both parties are 
miserably disappointed in the experiment. Nevertheless 
the desire of happiness is so impriuted on the mind of 
every man, that it is natural for iiim to yield to the im- 
pulse; and happy, indeed, is he who is reasonable 
enough to expect no more of it in the present life than 
is consistent with, and preparatory to, that which is 
the object of all our hopes in the life to come. 

Human judgment, however, is so fallacious, and, hu- 
man expectations so capricious, that, even with respect 
to temporal concerns, we are apt to call good evil, and 
evil good; and to shun with aversion what Avould be 
beneficial to us to possess, whilst we pursue with avid- 
ity the very thing vv^hich, obtained, would accomplish 
our destruction. If, then, we are so short-sighted on 
subjects which lie directly before us, how much ought 
we to suspect the propriety of the opinions we are too 
apt rashly to form, on those occasions wherein the good 
or evil which befalls us may have reference to the high 
concerns of a future state. It is scarcely to be doubted 
but every one who attentively reviews the transactions 
of his past life, may recollect circumstances of disap- 



THE CHRrSTIAN's CONSOLATION. 217 

poiatment which have eventually turned out to his ad- 
vantage, and flattering situations which have frustrated 
his hopes, and proved pernicious to his affairs. 

These facts ought surely to make us judge with dif- 
fidence on the changes and chances of this checkered 
life, and particularly to apply, with humble hope, its 
losses and disappointments to that bright scene of things 
where no false appearances elude expectation, and the 
very desire of happiness is lost in the most ample pos- 
session of it. And this application is the more neces- 
sary, as, without it, the mind, under heavy afflictions, 
would be apt to sink into incurable despondency; 
whereas with the prospect before them that the keen 
sense of the troubles, the sorrows, the pains and anxi- 
eties of this world, will shortly be exchanged for the 
pure, uninterrupted joys of that heavenly kingdom pre- 
pared for them from the beginning of the world^ the faith- 
ful followers of Christ are enabled to look upon human 
misery as a good rather than an evil; because it tends 
more than any thing to withdraw them from temporal, 
and to attach them more steadily to eternal things. 

That Job, in the day of his distress, viewed his suf- 
ferings in this light, may, I think, be inferred, as well 
from the rebuke lie gave to his rash wife, when she im- 
piously advised him to curse God and die, as from the 
words we have been considering, which breathe such a 
firm reliance on the goodness and justice of the Al- 
mighty, and so ardent a zeal for his service, that they 
ought to be sincerely adopted by us all; so that under 
the pressure of every misfortune, in every loss, in every 
calamity of life, we may be enabled zealously to ex- 
claim, the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; 
Messed he the name of the Lord! 

Here I would fain make the application of these 
words to a recent and most distressful event, in which 
all of us have been interested; some of us very deeply; 
but I, unfortunately, more than all. Yet why do I say 
unfartunateli/f Only to show the weakness of human 
nature, and that precepts are more easily formed than 

28 



218 THfi CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

practiced. — When I consider the good things which 
Godj in his beneficence, has bestowed on me; and when 
I look back on the long term of domestic happiness 
which his goodness has permitted me to enjoy, can I 
refrain to acknowledge, with unfeigned gratitude, that 
the Lord gaveP — Far from me be the unworthy sugges- 
tion! And since it hath pleased the Almighty Donor to 
take away from me the choicest and best of those good 
things, the dearest and most valuable of my earthly 
blessings; and to change the sweets of conjugal felicity 
into bitterness and wo, my mind fails not to acquiesce 
in the justice of his dispensation, though it has thence 
suffered unspeakable anguish. 

Of all human privations that which is occasioned by 
death is certainly the most awful and distressing; be- 
cause the impossibility of reparation or restitution adds 
wonderful poignancy to the sorrow occasioned by the 
object lost; and the higher sense we entertain of the va- 
lue of that object, the more keenly do we feel the sepa- 
rating stroke. 

On the present melancholy occasion my heart has 
strongly evinced this truth. The high value of her whose 
heavy loss I cannot but severely feel, and shall not fail 
long to lament, was only known to those who happily 
were in the habits of intimacy with her; to enumerate, 
therefore, her virtues to us, who knew her intimately, 
might seem superfluous, but my mind loves to dwell on 
the interesting subject, and some good may result from 
bringing forward the amiable qualities she possessed, 
not only in the estimation of my fond partiality, but, 
I trust, in the judgment of those who could look upon 
her with more discriminating eyes. 

In every relation of life she displayed something 
worthy of our esteem or imitation. To her servants she 
was surely the mildest mistress that ever claimed obe- 
dience. The affability of her conversation, to those who 
served her with fidelity, inspired them with becoming 
confidence, whilst the interest she took in their concerns 
placed them upon the footing of humble friends, rather 
than direct dependants. Her commands had the appear- 



THE CHRrSTIAN's CONSOLATION. 219 

ance of requests; and the cheerful alacrity with which 
they were executed, best shewed the ascendancy she 
had over the hearts of those who obeyed her mild in- 
junctions. If they were sorrowful, she pitied them; if 
they were sick, she administered to their relief. — To 
her children — O what an affectionate and indulgent mo- 
ther! The tender offspring of her body were always con- 
sidered so much a part of her very being, that if they 
suffered, her sympathetic bosom taught her to suffer 
with them; the least harsh word addressed to them she 
could not avoid applying to herself; and nothing could 
so readily ruffle the native evenness of her temper as 
any species of unkind treatment of these innocent ob- 
jects of her maternal regard. Like the most timid and 
the mildest of animals, become bold and vindictive in 
defence of their young, she was ever their shield and de- 
fender, even against the guarded attacks of paternal au- 
thority; fearful lest a disposition less gentle than her 
own, should injure where it meant only to correct. — In 
the distress of every one she never failed to participate; 
the tale of sorrow ever called forth from her eye the tear 
of sympathy; for her soul was commiseration itself. — 
To her friends and acquaintance, her conduct was affa- 
ble, unaffected and sincere; being a stranger to dissimu- 
lation and deceit, and having an aversion to that flip- 
pancy of speech in which too many of the sex indulge, 
her actions, rather than her words, spoke the force of 
her attachment, and were the interpreters of her respect. 
Even those who merited her dislike, were only entitled 
to her silence. — To every one she was interesting, 
from her courteous and unassuming manners. — Consi- 
dered in herself, her temper was mild and gentle; her 
heart was as free from pride, as it was charitable and 
humane; in amiable simplicity she was a very child: 
truth undisguised flowed from her tongue, and the in- 
genuous dictates of her artless mind directed all her 
actions. In this she was ever governed by the best of 
christian maxims — do unto others as ye would that they 
should do unto you; for in the whole of her intercourse 
with the world; she never failed of putting herself iu the 



250 THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

place of the person towards Avliom her actions were to 
be directed, and of regulating her conduct by tbe im- 
pulse of that imaginary transition. Nor was this so 
much the effect of reasoning on the occasion, as the pure, 
spontaneous result of that innate goodness of heart which 
was her distinguishing characteristic. That she had the 
failings and imperfections incident to human nature far 
be it from me to deny; but I trust, and ardently hope, 
that vice never had a moment's possession of her unde- 
signing bosom. — Perfection is not the portion of human- 
ity; and where is the light which admits no shade? 
Even the glorious luminary which gives light to the 
world is not exempt from spots, though they are undis- 
coverable to common observation. Let us, then, endea- 
vour to imitate the estimable qualities we have seen her 
eminently possessing, and wherever a scrutinizing eye 
can discover an obscuring spot, let us blot it out with 
the tear of pity; humbly beseeching God to pardon it 
in her, througli the merits of our Redeemer, and to give 
us all the blessing of his grace, sufficient to enable us 
to avoid the like; hence may we profit by the know- 
ledge of our own unworlliiness, and learn, from tlie 
known imperfection of human nature, that nothing is 
truly valuable but \^ hat is derived from God. 

In addition to this endearing picture of her whom 
the dark curtain of death has enshrouded, and hid from 
our sight; whose virtues the invaluable experience of 
seventeen years has so impressed on my mind as never 
to be effaced; I would delineate her character as a wife. 
But in this peculiar relation my feelings are too pain- 
fully interested to attempt a description; for what she 
was to me is not to be described. St. Paul says, tdves, 
submit yourselves to your husbands; a doctrine too harsh, 
I fear, to be brooked by every one; but she w horn I 
deplore, had no need of such an injunction; for never 
was deference and obedience more sweetly tempered 
with complacency and affection! It would have been 
impious not to have considered her as the choicest gift 
of heaven; and it would have been base and vile not to 
have valued, esteemed, and honoured her, agreeably to 



THE CHRISTlA>'*s CONSOLATION. 221 

that consideration. She was to me, indeed, every thing 
to which terms expressive of high estimation, disinte- 
rested friendship, and virtuous love couki be applied. If 
the loveliness of her person first attracted my attention, 
and inspired my heart with the tenderest regard, tlie 
sweetness of her disposition, the unaffected simplicity 
of her manners, and the unfeigned warmth of her at- 
tachment so closely drew the silken cords of conjugal 
affection, that our souls grew together, as it were, and 
formed but one. In all the momentous concerns of life 
they were so perfectly congenial that, like well-tuned 
instruments, they were always in unison. Time, instead 
of impairing, only served to strengthen the bonds of our 
union; and as the fervour of youthful endearments sub- 
sided, the steady glow of solid friendsliip so forcibly 
succeeded, that it promised its precious fruits to tlie 
very winter of old age. She was, in every sense, the 
friend as well as the wife of my bosom. If I was in af- 
fliction she alleviated my sorrows, by kindly and truly 
sharing them; if my heart rejoiced, her's so exulted in 
the common joy, that it seemed doubled to my imagi- 
nation, even as the mirror doubles, by reflexion, the ob- 
ject presented to it. In short, our minds, under every 
impression, were so mutually the support of each other, 
and so mutually inclined, on every occasion, to con- 
verge towards that support, that though they were 
strengthened in their union, they were individually 
weakened; and might be considered as a well-formed 
arch, flrm whilst entire, but easily tumbled into ruin, if 
the key- stone be removed, or the foundation of either 
side be undermined. 

This alas! has been but too strongly exemphfied in 
the present case, which is but too faithful a portrait of 
the instability and insecurity of human bliss. Whilst 
my fond imagination was rich in the possession of pre- 
sent, and busy in projecting schemes of future felicity, 
whilst I contemplated with inexpressible delight her 
who was the chief cause of the one, and the principal 
object of the other; behold the hand of Death hatU 



'4 



222 THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

dashed the cup of happiness from my lips, and blasted 
all my sanguine hopes at once! 

Deprived thus of so much excellence, the cause and 
object of so much happiness, what a loss is mine! 
Though different in kind, surely not less in degree than 
that which Job experienced. He lost all, except his 
wife; and I lost all, in losing mine; for flocks and herds, 
and worldly possessions would have been readily re- 
linquished to have preserved her who, in my experien- 
ced estimation, was so richly worth them all, had their 
amount been magnified in every possible degree. These 
being retrievable losses, her social converse would have 
afforded me the truest consolation under the depriva- 
tion of them, and aided my soul in looking forward 
to brighter prospects. But it was the will of Heaven 
that I should suffer this affliction; and if I have thought 
it equal in magnitude to that of the holy man we have 
before quoted, I pray God that my resignation may also 
be equal; and in the uncertainty of what high import 
this my present calamity may be to tlie future felicity 
of both, may my ill-judging mind and fro ward passions 
be taught to acquiesce, whilst my tongue confirms my 
submission, with — Blessed be the name of the Lord! 

If, however, excessive grief, under such temporal 
losses as are incident to human nature, be offensive to 
the Almighty, as tending to arraign the justice of his 
decrees, yet the mild tears of wounded sensibility, the 
sorrowful effusions of the swoln heart, cannot but be an 
acceptable sacrifice on the altar of humanity, and surely 
wdll not be disapproved by a merciful God, who des- 
pises not the sighing of a contnte hearty nor the desire 
of such as be sorrowful. The pathetic lamentation of 
David, for his beloved son Absalom, is certainly not 
recorded, in holy writ, in terms of reproach; though 
the object was unworthy that display of his ^ne feel- 
ings, and the force of his paternal affection. Neverthe- 
less, this exquisite sorrow ought ever to be tempered by 
reason, aided by religion. To such an appeal, on the 
present trying occasion, I would have recourse; and 



THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 223 

persuade myself that my loss is but temporary. I would 
imagine her who has been thus untimely snatched from 
me, to be merely gone on a journey; or at most gone to 
^x her residence in another and a better country; whi- 
ther I hope to follow, and to live again with her in a 
state of uninterrupted and never-ending felicity, such 
as eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered 
into the heart of man to conceive, I would fain figure to 
myself that precious body which lately, in an inexpres- 
sible agony of mind, I beheld stretchedout, breathless 
and deadly pale, in the coffin; and whose clay-cold lips 
I pressed, for the last time, ere the lid closed her for 
ever from mortal sight; that body would I fain suppose 
springing from the tomb, at the call of her Redeemer, 
to the enjoyment of new life, fresh with renovated 
strength, and blooming in immortal youth. What a rich 
compensation for present griefs, would be the ineffable 
joys of meeting her again in such a state! The suppo- 
sition is highly pleasing and consolatory; the more so 
as being strictly analogous to the real circumstances of 
the case. The more I reflect on it, the more I feel the 
force of the allusion, and am anxious to submit with 
becoming fortitude. But it is an arduous task, to a heart 
smarting under the anguish of so recent and so deep a 
wound. The steady eye of faith, indeed, sees the high 
probability that the cause of my lamentation has been 
the immediate advantage of her, the loss of whom has 
so deeply afflicted me; and, through the mercy of God, 
will be my eventual gain; that whilst my heart is vent- 
ing its unavailing sorrows, her loved spirit happily in- 
herits the promises; blest, ever blest, in the presence of 
her God, and the favour of her divine Redeemer. But 
the swoln eye of overweening passion, hoodwinked by 
self-love, masked under the appearance of social affec- 
tion, looks only to the present apparent evil, the future 
good lying far beyond its contracted view. Even boast- 
ed Reason, arguing from the poignancy of actual sen- 
sations, enlists under her banner, and tends to set at 
distance the resulting benefit. The mind will suffer un- 
der the severing stroke, and call up arguments to justify 



224 THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

its bitterest griefs. Ileligion only can aHeviate her an- 
guish, heal her wounds, and pour the balm of conso- 
lation over her afflictions. 

This suggests to me the reflection, that tliough the 
loved object of my plighted faith was suddenly cut off' 
in the prime of life, like the vernal flower nipt by un- 
timely frost, the gain is greatly her's; inasmuch as I 
trust in God that she is thence an earlier inhabitant of 
the blissful mansions of eternal repose; and that this 
awful event, which has presented to me the aspect of 
the most dreadful calamity, may have been brought 
about by the mercy of the Almighty, to rouse my heaii; 
from its fond lethargy, and frail dependance on a per- 
ishable creature; that feeling, as I have keenly done, 
the insecurity of human happiness, I might apply my- 
self more seriously to the means of obtaining that per- 
fect happiness which nothing can interrupt, and nothing 
can terminate. 

God gi'ant that we may all make this application w^ith 
effect! The lesson of adversity is, indeed, hard to learn, 
but it is very profitable to the student, when well under- 
stood. The mind grows callous in the continued pros- 
perity of the Avorld, relies too much upon its own powers, 
and seeks too mucii its immediate gratification, forgetful 
of the beneficent hand which gave^ and the Almighty 
Power which so soon can take away. Adversity, on the 
contrary, softens the heart, humbles its proud preten- 
sions, and disposes it to an acknowledgment of its weak- 
ness, and the vanity of its propensities. In such a situa- 
tion as this, who does not see the mercy of the Omnipo- 
tent shine through the cloud of temporal affliction? — 
The withdrawing from our possession the object which 
engrosses so much of our attention, as to estrange us 
from the service of God, and to make the creature th 
rival of the Creator, is only the merciful interposition 
of Divine Providence, to convince our stubborn and 
incredulous hearts of the instability of temporal good, 
to set before our eyes the sad proofs of the weakness 
and frailty of human nature, and to show us how vain 
and unsatisfactory are all the pleasures of sense, and 



THE CHRISTIAN-s CONSOLATION. 225 

how empty and illusory are evea the purest desires of 
the human breast^ which embrace not objects beyond 
the present transitory scene of things. 

In this state of humiliation, the mind, irreparably 
deprived of that which it has long been accustomed to 
consider as its best comfort and support, naturally 
looks round for a substitute; for something Avhereon to 
build new expectations, or which may administer con- 
solation, and become a barrier against the terrors of 
despondency, which is too often the result of indulging 
ideas destitute of Hope, the only resource of the wretch- 
ed. Happily for tlie sufferings of mankind, religion 
points out the ample and invaluable substitute; directs 
us to the rock of ages for the firm, immovable founda- 
tion on which our new desires must be erected, in order 
to ensure us permanent and uninterrupted enjoyment; 
and teaches us to aim at the attainment of that great and 
substantial good, which our Blessed Saviour has pro- 
mised to those who ask it in his name, even the partici- 
pation of the kingdom of heaven. This is the sovereign 
balm which the physician of our souls has prepared for 
human wo; and every one is invited to experience its 
efficacy. Come unto me all ye that labour^ and are heavy 
laden, says he, and I icill give you rest. — To him, then, 
let us direct our ardent supplications, in every situation 
of life; and consider it as the greatest blessing, that un- 
der the severest visitations of Grod we are not left hope- 
less; but can lift up our gloomy thoughts, with confi- 
dence, from the dark chambers of cheerless melancholy, 
to the bright mansions of the fountain of light; and ex- 
change an earthly and perishable possession, for a ce- 
lestial and everlasting treasure. 

Lastly, that we may apply every circumstance attend- 
ing the subject before us to our own immediate edifica- 
tion, let us reflect on the suddenness of the catastrophe 
which has been the cause of our present sorrow. But a 
few short days before the fatal blow was struck, she, 
whose memory will be ever dear to us, enjoyed her 
usual good health; and the situation which then suc- 

29 



226 THE CHR18TIAN-S CONSOLATION. 

ceeded^ though delicate and dangerous, by not being 
uncommon was far from being hopeless. Even the day- 
preceding that of her dissolution began in cheering 
smiles. An unexpected ray of hope beamed upon us, 
and her eye brightened with the flattering prospect of 
returning strength; but, alas! it was only to close in 
death. The delusion was momentary. It was but the 
last bright glare of an expiring taper. The grim con- 
queror had raised his hand, and levelled his dart with 
unerring aim. Neither her own strength of years, nor 
the power of medicine, nor the fervent prayers my agi- 
tated soul addressed to the Omnipotent, were able to 
avert the dreadful stroke. The awful Jiat was given, 
and mocked all human exertions to preserve her valu- 
ed life. 

Let us think seriously of this, and tremble for our- 
selves. To be so suddenly snatched from the bosom of 
affectionate friends, and dearest relatives; to be, with so 
short a warning, hurried from the soft blandishments of 
social life, however innocent, into the ds^d presence of 
the Almighty, is certainly a fearful thii^p. And if it was 
so in the present case, how terrible must it be to one less 
exemplary in conduct, and less observant of moral and 
religious duties! 

Surely this consideration alone will be sufficient to 
put us on our guard, and to urge us not to delay a mo- 
ment the important business of examining our hearts, 
and of asking ourselves the question, what would be- 
come of our immortal souls should we be so unexpect- 
edly summoned to meet our Grod? — O! it is a momen- 
tous concern! For however healthful, hpwever young, 
however robust we may be, we are nevertheless certain 
that we miist die. Nor can we form the least conjecture 
of the time when the awful summons will arrive. A 
thousand trivial accidents are capable of cutting short 
the thread of life; and we who appear so perfectly se- 
cure at present, may, ere to-morrow^s dawn, be stretch- 
eel out upon the bed of death, xls a melancholy confir- 
mation how very small a matter, in the hand of the Al- 
mighty, is able to precipitate us into the giave, be it re- 



THE CIIRISTlAiS's CONSOLATION, 227 

membered that a mere alarm, without the least external 
violence, was the eventual cause of these our lamenta- 
tions. Nor let us ever forget that neither that health, 
that youth, that strength which seems to promise such 
length of days, is able to shield us a single moment 
from the attacks of the king of terrors; who, wdth ap- 
parent capriciousness, often passes by the weak, the 
sickly, and the aged, to level with the dust the strong, 
the healthy, and the young. Let us, then, seriously and 
immediately set about preparing ourselves, to meet this 
dreadful destroyer of mankind; and as it is impossible 
for us to ward oif from the body his fatal blows, let us 
be provided with tlie happy means of rendering them 
innoxious to our souls. iLet us remember that as in 
*Mam all die^ so in Christ shall all be made alive. 
What a delightful consolation is this, under the tremen- 
dous certainty of death! Let us, therefore, sedulously 
seek this sovereign consolation. Let us repose our anx- 
ious hopes of succour and defence on his Almighty arm, 
who is able to raise us from the gloomy sepulchre, to 
everlasting life. Iq order to which, let us be mindful to 
be so prepared, by supplication and prayer, by the un- 
feigned integrity of our hearts, and by a firm reliance 
on the efficacy of our Saviour's sufferings and death, 
that we may be enabled to look upon the universal de- 
stroyer with composure, and consider him only as the 
means employed by Providence of translating us from 
a world teeming with cares and disquiets; Avhere the 
little unsubstantial good we find, is abundantly counter- 
balanced by the load of solid evils which mankind is 
doomed to bear; and of placing us in the regions of un- 
interrupted repose, and never-ending felicity; where, 
under the protection of the captain of our salvation, we 
shall experience the inexpressible delight of being again 
united to our dear departed friends; of again tasting the 
sweets of their improved society; happy, transcAidently 
happy, in the certainty that we shall never more feel 
the pang of separation. 

Considering in this light the painful loss of those who 
have been nearest to oiu^ hearts, and most necessary to 



e2S THE CHRISTIAN'S CONSOLATION. 

our happiness^ their death, at first so afflicting ta our 
sensibility, becomes a blessing to our souls; pointing out 
to us the necessity of transferring our affections from the 
delusive shadow to the solid substance; of relinquishing 
the vain expectation of laying up treasures on earth, for 
the more rational desire of securing them in heaven, 
where neither moth nor rust can corrupt , and where 
thieves cannot break through and steal: for where the 
treasure is, there will the heart he. 

Since, then, we ourselves have lost an earthly trea- 
sure of no common value, let us be thankful to God for 
the time we have happily enjoyed it; and earnestly look- 
ing forward towards the attainment of an heavenly and 
invaluable one, the rich compensation we are graciously 
taught to expect, let us cordially unite with Job, and 
say — the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; 
blessed he the name of the Lord! 



CONSOLATIOINS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS, 
BF WILLLLM DODD, D. D, 

Consolations drawn from Considerations respecting God, 

What a scene of trial and trouble is tlie present! 
from wliat various quarters do the arrows of affliction 
fly to the human heart! douhts and cares and fears op- 
press our minds! diseases and pain torment our bodies! 
— -friends die, — our dearest friends die, — and a sad 
breach is thus made in our happiness! — This is a source 
of deep distress; it calls for all our pity and for all our 
aid; and blessed be God, such is our divine religion, 
tliat it presents comfort to every care, and hath balm to 
bestow on every wound! As therefore we have endea- 
voured to suggest the proper arguments of comfort to 
the distrest in mind and body, let us now proceed to 
offer all possible relief to such as are distrest in estate 
or condition: and first to those who mourn the loss of 
beloved and deceased friends. 

The great Author of our being hath, for wise and 
good ends, so constituted our nature, that the social af- 
fections operate with peculiar force upon our minds, and 
sway us almost irresistibly. It cannot therefore be sup- 
posed, when the just and proper objects of such afflic- 
tions are taken from us, that grief is criminal, that sor- 
row is wholly forbidden us. Impossibles can never be 
criminal, can never be forbidden; and it is impossible to 
witlihold the gushing tear, to stop the deep and melan- 
choly sigh, to be void of tender and affectionate feeling, 
when the friend, dear as our own soul, w hen the beloved 
parent, wdien the valuable husband or wife, when the 
child of our bosom, and of our hopes, are taken, for 



230 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTKI) 

ever taken from our embraces^ and lodged in the cold 
bowels of the comfortless grave. — The dispositions of 
men are also so various, that the same affliction will 
produce very different effects on different minds; that 
which shall melt down one person will hardly warm 
another. Where there is a predominance of the softer 
passions, every bowel shall move within them, and like 
the sensitive plant, they shrink in, and are affected with 
the smallest touch. Some natures are even ^;aii?/M% 
tender; to such therefore we must allow a larger lilierty 
in sorrow, as they liave a more feeling sense of grief. — 
The occasions of sorrow too may justify a greater de- 
gree of it; some losses are so truly distressful, some 
cases so extremely pitiable, that one cannot deny to the 
sufferer some indulgence in grief. Who can blame the 
widow, — nay, who can fail to weep with her, — when 
she laments, in all the bitterness of anguish, that fatal 
stroke which separates from her and her little orphans, 
the husband of her heart, the father, the friend, tiie sup- 
port! 

Grief, therefore, tender grief, is by no means forbid- 
den or blameable; thus far we plead in its behalf. St. 
Paul, when he advises us not to sorrow^ as others who 
have no hope, plainly allows us to sorroic. He does not 
say, I would have you not sorrow at all, — but not as 
those y &c. Christianity would regulate, not totally sup- 
press our grief. But though grace doth not destroy; it 
refines nature; though it doth not extinguish the affec- 
tions and passions, yet it rectifies and moderates. them. 
To be altogether unconcerned is unnatural, for the most 
part is impossible; to be too much concerned is unchris- 
tian: they are both hurtful extremes to any soil, to have 
no water at all, or to have it overflow and drown the 
whole country.* 

While then we plead for moderate, we would offer 
arguments against immoderate sorrow; and sorrow may 
then truly be said to be immoderate^ when it makes us 

* See Grosvenor^s Holj Mourner, from which we have taken 
very liberalljj as we know no book more worthy on the subject. 



UNDER TlIE LOSS OF FRIENDS. £S1 

peevish and passionate, irreconcilable to, and out of 

humour with all our other blessings, because God hath 
been pleased to take awav one: — when it unfits us for 
the duties of religion, and the business of hfe. " He is 
a miserable mau indeed, says one,* who is afflicted and 
cannot or will not pray;- *- — when we are so much taken 
up wiih. our own as to attend to the sorrows of nobody 
else: — when we are regardless of God's design in our 
affliction, of the lessons we should learn from his cor- 
recting stroke: — when we refuse to be comforted, and 
exceed both m time and measure: — when our spirits are 
soured, aud we murmur and entertain hard thoughts of 
God: — and lastly, it is immoderate when we suffer it to 
prey upon our health. Sometimes, indeed, sorrow kills 
entirelv. and as effectuallv, as if a man was shot throusrh 
the heart: sometimes it operates more gradually, but 
then it does its business, as surely as a slow and eatins: 
poison. For the food seldom nourishes which is mingled 
with tears: the air refresheth not. the faculties of nature 
perform not their functions amidst immoderate and in- 
dulged grief: — and the end is a broken heart! By soi'- 
vote of heart the spirit is broJcen, says the wise man; 
and we sometimes read in the bills of mortality, this af- 
fecting article, — Died of griefi — an article wliich would 
be much larger and oftener inserted, if all who died of 
grief were to be distinguished: for very many are the 
diseases which are the nattiral issue of immoderate sor- 
row! How offensive in the sight of God such sorrow^ 
must be, we shall clearly discern from the motives to 
submission and comfort, which I now proceed to offer, 
and which may be derived from considerations that 
either respect, 1. God; 2. Our deceased friends: 3. Our 
ownselves; or 4. Others about us. 

1. In the first place then, immoderate grief for the 
loss of friends is highly unreasonable, if we consider 
who it is that taketJi away. It was sufficient to vStop 
the torrent of old Eli's grief, amidst the loss of his 
children and the total extinction of his house, \^hen he 

* Old Mr. Dod's sayin-5. 



^32 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

recollected the hand inflicting the heavy blow^ It is the 
Lord^ said the resigned old man^ let him do what seem- 
eth him good. 

Consider onlj, that God is our great and uncon- 
trolable Sovereign, who hath an absolute right and pro- 
perty in us and all that we have; and the thought must 
teach submission. Again, consider his superlative Ma- 
jesty and unspeakable excellence, and it must strike us 
dumb with the profoundest humility! Shall not his ex- 
cellency make thee afraid^ says the sacred writer; his 
excellency, who dwells in light unapproachable, before 
whom angels veil their faces. — Wilt thou lift up thy 
bold front against him, and charge that glory with 
shame, that brightness with a spot, that wisdom with 
folly, and that justice of his with any iniquity? If such 
poor children of the dust, as we, would contemplate 
the unutterable greatness and glory of the Lord of life 
and death, we should receive with greater submission, 
any chastening dispensations from him. 

Consider again his infinite perfections; his infi- 
nitely wise and cannot err; infinitely powerful and can- 
not be resisted; infinitely holy and cannot behold iniqui- 
ty without abhorrence; infinitely good and can do no 
evil; and he is infallible truth itself, so that he cannot 
falsify his word. — If it were possible to take the man- 
agement of matters out of his hands into our own, it 
would be the best way for us to replace them again in 
the hands of God. It is he to whose will all the course 
of nature besides uniformly complies; why then should 
not we? And when we read that Christ himself said, I 
am come to do thy will, O God; and. Father , not as I 
will hut as thou wilt; who are we that we should pre- 
tend to speak any other language? 

After the perfections of God, consider the relations 
in which he stands to us; he made the human will! 
Shall he not give laws to his own creature? Did he 
form this hand to strike at himself? this breath, this 
tongue, to speak against him; — did he make us and 
freely give us all things, that we should blaspheme him, 
when he is pleased to withdraw some of them! oh, 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 233 

strange impiety! — but, as dependant creatures, do we 
not live, and move^ and have our being in him? as we 
are expectant creatures^ is it the way to obtain our 
will of him, to deny him the homage and submission 
of our own Avills? — as we are sinful creatures, have 
we not guilt enough upon ns already? shall we swell 
the account and increase our misery?— As we are ac- 
countable creatures, he is our Judge; as we are recover- 
able creatures, he is our Saviour; and can we be dis- 
pleased with any of his methods towards making all 
these ideas concur to our salvation? To be redeemed 
from the tyranny of our own wills and irregular appe- 
tites, is no small part of the redemption by Jesus Christ. 
Did he give himself up to death for us, and shall we 
think it too much to give up our wills to him? — Shall 
the Redeemed dispute the orders of the Redeemer? shall 
servants dispute the will of their master; or subjects say 
to such a king, what dost thou? — We are his friends 
only upon the term of doing whatsoever he commands 
us; — and if, under the relation of children, we go to 
him as our Father who is in heaven: certainly we ought, 
as dutiful children, ever to add, Father, thy will he 
done. 

To the consideration of the relations whicb God 
bears to us, we may add, that whether we submit or 
not, his will must and shall be done; and therefore it is 
far better and wiser for us to have the blessing and 
comfort of a dutiful submission, than to murmur under 
a fretful and unprofitable compulsion to it. Nay, and 
in every loss, we may and ought to reflect how much 
further God might have gone with us, depriving us of 
all our comforts as well as part of them; he might have 
given up our souls to terror, our bodies to disease, our 
affairs to confusion. It behoves us therefore to be thank- 
ful, that he hath only afflicted thus far, and that \nih 
our friends he hath not taken away all things beside. 
David, in his pathetic reply on the death of his child, 
shows us the absurdity of unreasonable grief, and the 
follv of not submitting to the will of God, which is ir- 

30 



234 CONSOLATIONS FOR TPIE AFFLICTED 

reversible; While the Child was yet alive, said he, J 
fasted and wept; for I said, who can tell whether God 
will he gracious to me that the child may live? the most 
humble submission allows the use of all proper means^ 
and of the most fervent application to God in prayer; 
But, he goes on, noiv that he is dead, wherefore should 
I fast? can I bring him back again? I shall go to him^ 
hut he shall not return to me. 

Moreover, a well-grounded persuasion of God^s ex- 
act and particular providence is a strong consolation 
amidst the loss of our friends, if there were no provi- 
dence we should w^ant one of the best antidotes against 
the fears of what is to come, and the sorrows for what 
is past; for, (as bishop Patrick observes,) all the care 
would then lie upon ourselves, and that would be far 
too much for us; but when a man thinks of Infinite 
Wisdom and Power governing all things, he cannot 
fail to be submissive; for God disposes of all things, 
not only as absolute Lord, but as a loving Father, that 
we might be sensible no less of his goodness than of 
his power. It is distrust of God, to be too much trou- 
bled about what is to come; it is impatience against 
God to fret at what is present; and it is anger at him 
to be too much concerned for what is past. — Such a 
frame of spirits finds fault with his wisdom, blames 
his goodness, depresses his power, reprehends his faith- 
fulness; and therefore is highly sinful and speedily to 
be amended. 

The wise and great ends he is advancing to his own 
glory, and our good, is another motive to submission. 
God hath as much right to use us to the purposes of 
his own glory, whether perceived by us or not, as we 
have to use any instrument in our house, or to employ 
any of our servants without acquainting them with our 
purposes. Had not Mraham, Joseph^ Job, and others 
been used by God much otherwise than according to 
their natural will, we had lost the benefit of the finest 
instances of submission, and they the blessing of the 
fullest reward. " I see God will have all my heart, and 
he shall have li^ was a fine reflection made by a lady 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 235 

when news was brought of two children being drown- 
ed, w^honi she tenderly loved — Lord, we are the clay 
and thou the potter; behold, as the clay is in the pot- 
ter's hand, so are we in thine ! 

But be it remembered, that whatsoever you lose you 
cannot be miserable, while you have this God to be 
your God and portion; the God who made the creatures 
we are so fond of, who gave tliem all the loveliness and 
perfections we so much admire, and hath, without doubt, 
in himself all that which he gave, and infinitely more. 
How does it sound to say, " I am undone, for I have 
nothing but God left!'' Surely God can fill up the room 
of any departed creature, though the whole world can 
not fill up the room of a departed God! to lose a crea- 
ture and find a God, has been an happy exchange to 
some, whose losses have brought them to know God 
and themselves; God who will eternally be more to us 
than he can ever take from us! 

Let us also observe, that as submission to the will 
of an All- wise Father is the most reasonable duty of 
dependant creatures, so it is the most acceptable sacri- 
fice to God, and the highest duty of Christianity; and 
one whose deficiency can be atoned by no religious ser- 
vices whatever; though we offer ten thousand sacrifices, 
or give the fruit of our body for the sin of our soul; all 
this would be vain without resignation to the Divine 
Will: all the practices of religion without it, are mere 
formality, hypocrisy, and pretence. "Do you see how 
that person employs himself in the oflices of devotion? 
can any one be more assiduous in hearing and reading, 
in prayer and sacraments?-— you shall soon perceive of 
how little worth all this external service is; lo! God 
puts forth his hand and takes away the delight of his 
eyes with a stroke; and presently the God, which, he 
seemed to adore with so much resignation, can hardly 
have a good word or a good thought, can hardly be al- 
lowed to be wise and good and just, or any thing but a 
severe and hard master. He not only mourns, but he 
pines and consumes, and rages against God; God and 
his heaven are cyphers now in comparison of the crea- 



236 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

ture, to which yet that God hath done no harm, but 
only removed for purposes in wliich tfiis man himself 
will rejoice, when he comes to know them. 

Vainly indeed do you call God Most High, and 
quickly something else appears higher in your esteem; 
your husband, your child, your wife, your friend; you 
call him Most Glorious, and yet glory more in some- 
thing else; you compliment him with the title of Faith- 
ful and True, but while he sees that you will not trust 
him in the way of your duty, that you will not take his 
word in a promise for a work of piety to God, or charity 
to man, he esteems himself flattered. And be sure that 
all pretences to serve and honour him are vain and fruit- 
less, can neither be acceptable to him nor profitable to 
you, if your heart deny him the tribute of humble resig- 
nation; if you retain the pride of self-will, and are not 
ready cheerfully to receive whatever he shall think fit 
to ordain. The contrary behaviour impugns his wis- 
dom, goodness, power, and truth. 

From these then, and the like considerations, which 
respect God, we may learn the great duty of submis- 
sion, as well as derive arguments of comfort, when he 
is pleased to take away any of our friends from us; he, 
who is the absolute Lord and Sovereign of all his crea- 
tures, whose greatness and majesty are uncontrolable, 
whose perfections, his truth, wisdom, goodness are in- 
finite, and Avho, from the relations which he bears to us, 
necessarily requires perfect submission to his will; which 
must and shall be done, whether we submit to it or not. 
The reflection, — that his particular providence ruleth 
^nd directeth all events; that all events are designed by 
him to promote our good and his glory; that no events, 
however melancholy, can deprive us of him and his mer- 
cies, if we be not wanting in our duty; — must give us 
consolation under the loss of our dearest friends; while 
a remembrance of the great importance of submission 
and resignation must render every sincere soul desirous 
of attaining this temper, which is no less happy in it- 
self than it is pleasing to God; no less conducive to our 
present tranquillity, than to our future glory! 



ITNOER 'i'lIK hO^S OF FRIENDS. 23r 

CONSOLATIONS UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS^ DRAWN 
FROM CONSIDERATIONS RESPECTING THOSE FRIENDS, 
THEMSELVES. 

From these considerations respecting God, we pro- 
ceed to such as regard our departed friends themselves. 
God who gave them to us, hath been pleased to re- de- 
mand his own gift, and to take them away from us! why 
should we not say, Blessed he the vame of the Lord! 
blessed be his name for vouchsafing them to us so long. 
He had a property in them before we had any; they 
were his before they were our's; now they are his eter- 
nally. — And, oh! say, would you have your beloved 
friends immortal here, only to please you? would you 
have them live, though weary of life, and stay below, 
though longing to be gone? would you have them iu 
misery, though fit for happiness? would you have them 
kept amidst the troubles of life, the pains of sickness, 
the infirmities of age; or, at the very best, in the vain 
insipid repetition of the same round of things, only to 
prevent a vacancy in your amusements and delights? 
Is this thy kindness to thy friend? Oli, surely, thou 
lovest thyself more than thy friend, or thou wouldst 
rejoice that he is delivered from all the evils of morta- 

Besides, we know the irreversible condition of hu- 
manity. A parting time must come; why then not this? 
If the time of parting with our friends were left to our 
choice, it would greatly increase our confusion! We 
know that we enjoy our friends only upon a very frail 
and uncertain tenure; why then should we not endea- 
vour to reconcile ourselves to that necessary separation, 
which, indeed, is not the total loss, is not the utter ex- 
tinction of our friends. Blessed be God, Christ hath 
brought life and immortality to light; and we are as- 
sured, that our dear friends do not cease from existing, 
they only exist in a different state and manner; a differ- 
ent and a far more happy; — for, though absent from us, 
they ^re present with the Lord; entered into joy uu- 



Sas CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

speakable and full of glory! why then any immoderate 
grief? it can neither be profitable to us nor to them; it 
may do us much hurt, it can do them no good; it may 
weaken our bodies and prejudice our health; it may 
sadden our spirits, deprive us of the comforts, and in- 
dispose us for the duties of life! and what advantage 
can there be derived from so costly a sacrifice to their 
memory! do they need, can they be pleased with our 
tears, who have for ever taken leave of weeping them- 
selves, and have such infinite cause for joy! could your 
cries call back the departed spirit, and awaken tlie 
clay-cold body into life; could you water the plant with 
tears till it revived, there might be some excuse for the 
abundance of your sorrow; but there are no Elijahs now 
who may stretch themselves upon the breathless corpse 
and bring back its departed soul. Wherefore should we 
weep? can we bring them back again ^ — we shall go to 
them, hut they shall not return to us. 

And, can it be, would you have them return? do you 
lament their felicity? are you grieved for their hap- 
piness? would you wish to bring them back again? 
would you wish to have your dear child, your affec- 
tionate parent, your faithful consort, your valuable rela- 
tion, now safely landed in tlie haven of eternal rest, 
would you wish to have them again placed on the un- 
certain shore of this life, and subjected to all its temp- 
tations and difficulties? would you have them walk over 
the precipice once more, fight the dangerous battle over 
again, again run the arduous race, be tempted, sin, and 
suffer again? would you have them indeed return for 
your gratification, from that holy place to this place of 
sin, from joy to trouble, from rest and peace to new 
vexations? their sentiments are different, their affections 
raised and ennobled, and, as well as they loved us, they 
would not come back to us for all the universe; and 
yet, as well as we loved them, we cannot, for our un- 
reasonable grief, wish them joy of their new elevation 
and dignity! — 'Oh! let us struggle against these unwor- 
thy apprehensions, and congratulate ourselves, that we 
have already friends, friends dear as our own souls^ 



UNDEU THE L«SS OF FRIENDS. 239 

friends for whom we could well have been content to 
die, that we have such already in the kingdom of God, 
and waiting to welcome us to that blessed and better 
country! 

There is the joy, there is the grand source of conso- 
lation under the loss of friends, — we shall meet again! 
They are delivered from their trial while we are left be- 
hind a few weary years longer; and behold, the time of 
our departure also cometh, when we shall follow our 
friends, and be for ever with them and with the Lord! 
For ever! comfortable truth, never more to hang over the 
dying bed, to catch the last mournful farewell, to hear 
the sad agonizing, heart-rending groan! We shall meet, 
meet wdth an inexpressible reciprocation of endearing 
love and multiplied joy, to find ourselves all thus to- 
gether, after our parting sorrows, — together not in the 
world of trial, trouble and sin, — but in a place where all 
things and persons that are any ways offensive, shall be 
totally removed! No falseness or rancour, no partiality 
or mistake, no prejudice or infirmity, no malice or envy, 
no passion or pride shall ever discompose us there, nor 
aught be found to molest or hinder the heavenly plea- 
sure circulating through every happy heart and dwel- 
ling upon every joyful face and thankful tongue! 

Let us elevate our souls to that blissful meeting, let 
us reflect upon its unspeakable comforts, and we shall 
silence all our complaints, and have only one anxious 
concern, how to improve our own souls and to secure 
the Redeemer's favour, that Ave may not fail to meet, — 
to meet, and enjoy for ever, those whose loss we so sen- 
sibly feel, and so tenderly regret^ — And let us observe, 
that this is a most aw akening motive to the cultiva- 
tion of sincere and undissembled friendship, to activity 
in all its kind and endearing offices, to the valuing our 
beloved and Christian minds; namely, to look beyond 
the narrow limits of this world, and the short satisfac- 
tions of the present transitory scene, to that future, that 
glorious meeting, the exquisite raptures of which tlic 
good heart may faintly conceive, but can never fully 
express. If we have any love for our friends, any ten- 



540 CONSOLATIONS F(iR THE AFFLICTED 

tier desire to meet them again, tliis is one of the strong- 
est arguments possible to incite us to a diligence in all 
tiie duties of our holy religion; for what anguish can 
be conceived so great as to meet those friends again, 
only to be condemned by the Judge which hath blest 
them, and to be hurried, for ever hurried from them in- 
to misery eternal! — Surely, if we consider this, we shall 
l)e anxious to serve and honour our God, and so will 
the joy of our future meeting be certain and inexpres- 
sibly great. 

Look not then, oh afflicted mourner, to the breath- 
less body and the devouring grave; hang not over the 
melancholy contemplation, nor esteem thy valued friend 
as for ever lost to thee; a day is coming, thrice happy 
glorious day, — oh speed it, God of infinite love and 
goodness; make us fit, and hasten that joyful day! — a 
tlay is coming when thou shalt be set free from all the 
anguish of distressful sorrow: when thy eyes to weep no 
more, shall ]}e closed on this world, and thy soul shall 
ascend to the Paradise of God! There shall the enrap- 
tured parents receive again their much-loved child; 
there shall the child, Avith transport, meet again those 
parents in joy, over whose graves, with filial duty, he 
dropt the aft'ectionate tears; there shall tlie disconsolate 
widow cease her complaints; and her orphans, orphans 
no more, sliall tell the sad tale of their distress to the 
husband, the father; distress even pleasing to recollect, 
now that happiness is its result, and heaven its end! — 
There sliall the soft sympathies of endearing friendship 
be renewed; the affectionate sisters shall congratulate 
each other, and faitliful friends again shall mingle con- 
verse, interests, amities, and walk high in bliss with 
God himself; while all shall join in one triumphant ac- 
knowledgment of his wise and fatherly goodness, who 
from afflictions deduceth good, who bringeth men to 
glory, through much tribulation, and purifieth them for 
his kingdom in the blood of the suffering Lamb! 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. £41 

CONSOLATIONS UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS, DRAWN 
FROM CONSIDERATIONS RESPECTING OURSELVES. 

Motives for submission and comfort^ under the 
loss of our friends, may be derived from considerations 
which respect either God, our departed friends, our- 
selves, or others about us. We enlarged upon the ar- 
guments drawn from the two former topics, God and 
our departed Friends; it remains that we consider such 
as regard ourselves and others. 

In order to moderate grief we should remember, 
with respect to ourseli^es, that the loss of friends is no 
strange or uncommon accident; that still we have many 
blessings remaining; that self-love is too much concern- 
ed, very often, in our grief; that God means our good, 
and that all affliction is profitable, if duly improved. 

We should remember, 1. That no strange or uncom- 
mon thing hath happened to us; nothing but what is 
usual amongst men, nothing but what Ave well know is 
the universal condition of our nature. It is no more 
strange that a man should die than that he should be 
born: art thou better than thy fathers who are dead and 
gone? what makest thou thyself! 

We come into a family and see one sitting lonely, in 
all the silence of distress; another is overwhelmed with 
tears and sighs; another is gone up to his closet like 
David to weep and cry out, O//, Ahsalom, niy son^ my 
son! — And what is the cause of all this? why one that 
was born to die is dead! v* as it the first child, the first 
husband, the first friend that ever died? had you a patent 
from heaven against the common lot? would you have 
had God make this person immortal to please you? He 
teareth himself in his anger saith Job; — shall the earth 
be forsaken for thee, and shall the rock be removed out 
of its place? Reconcile thyself to tlie ordinary lot of thy 
being; no strange thing, but what thou shouldst every 
day expect, hath happened to thee! 

2. But consider again, that in tliis friend all your 
blessings are not gone; how many mercies and comforts 

81 



242 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

are continued to you, and how many troubles kept oft* 
which might have befallen you. You have lost some 
children; it might have been all. You have lost all; it 
might have been your husband or wife at the same time. 
You have lost husband or wife; it might have been also 
estate and all the means of subsistence: or suppose that 
gone too, you have liberty and health and peace and 
friends; or suppose they are also gone, yet, hold up your 
heart in this extreme distress, you are yet within reach 
of heaven, you yet have God to apply to, which is a 
greater good than any you have lost, or than all put to- 
gether. Pardon of sin and peace with God may still be 
yours; and if in the shipwreck of every earthly comfort 
you find these and embrace them, you will have no need 
to lament the severity of your affliction! 

There are indeed some cases of distress which are 
particularly mournful, but then they have peculiar com- 
forts. That of the widow for instance, left with many lit- 
tle helpless orphans weeping around her, and wanting 
support; deprived not only of the husband and the fa- 
ther, but the means of living and the supplies of bread; 
to such an hapless woman, thus severely exercised, what 
comfort can you offer, what blessings has she left? — She 
has the greatest of blessings; the immediate and especial 
care oi Providence; of that God who throughout his gra- 
cious word, hath shewn himself tenderly concerned for 
the interest of the widow and the orphan, whose cause 
he hath promised not only to plead, but to avenge, and 
whose cause he hath recommended to his people by the 
strongest arguments! Leave thy fatherless children to 
me J saith he, and I will preserve them alive, and let thy 
widows trust in me.^ Let them but trust in God and 
lead such holy and exemplary lives as may give them 
reasonable grounds for such a trust, and they will expe- 
rience the protecting mercy of his fatherly hand! their 
children, duly and carefully instructed by them, shall 
become pleasing comforts to their age, and happy sooth- 

* See my Sermon on the Widow's Sons. Miracles, vol. i. p. 
219. and the Reflections on Death, c. 4. p. 51. 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 243 

ers of all their sorrows. Friends^ unexpected friends 
shall arise^ — providential friends; for pure religion and 
undefiled is to visit, to visit with comfort and assistance 
the fatherless and widows in their affliction; and blessed 
of the Lord is the man who judgeth their cause, and 
helpeth them in their distress. 

3. Another motive to moderate our grief for the loss 
of friends should be a serious inspection into the cause 
of that grief; and in such a case we shall often find that 
self-love is at the bottom of our sorrow. We have lost 
a pleasure and an advantage; we are mourning over the 
living rather than the dead; if one, every way the same, 
would make us easy, the sorrow is not for the departed, 
but for ourselves who survive. Cicero, speaking of the 
death of a friend, saith, "No evil hath happened to him; 
whatever it be, it concerns only myself; and to be se- 
verely afflicted at one's own misfortunes is a proof not 
of love to our friends but ourselves.^' As self-love there- 
fore predominates so much, we ought to moderate our 
passion, and turn the stream of our grief another way, 
lamenting that our hearts are so selfish, and that we can 
Mdth so much difficulty resign a present satisfaction, and 
make a sacrifice of our wills to God. 

4. We are bound, moreover, to consider the end and 
design of affliction, and in consequence to improve it 
properly. But I insist not upon this, nor upon the due 
desert of our oflFences, which certainly merit punishment 
severer than w^e usually meet with; we, who out of so 
many possible miseries, have generally so few fall to our 
lot, when we are born to all by descent, subject to all 
by nature, and deserving of all by sin. But these topics 
I have enlarged upon in the former sections. 

Let me only observe, that as the great end of Chris- 
tianity is to draw our ajffections from this world, and to 
fix them upon a better; so nothing is more calculated 
to produce that end, than the loss of our dearest friends, 
and their removal to that world, where we hope sliortly 
to meet them. What is life without the blessings of sin- 
cere friendship? What do we live for but our friends? 
The onlv ties that hold us here, and make us willins to 



^44 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

stay^ are the tender^ the affectionate ties of endearing re- 
lationship. But when the relations, the friends for whom 
only we lived, are no longer allowed to continue with 
us; when those who were dearer to us than ourselves, 
are for ever taken from our mortal sight; surely we shall 
leave this pilgrim's state with less regret; surely it will 
make death more welcome, to have sent hefore those 
beloved ones, with whom we have the blessed hope of 
meeting in a better world, eternally to enjoy each other, 
and never more to be pained with the anguish of part- 
ing. So cut off the fibres, and loosen the root, and the 
tree fast fixed in the earth but now, easily falls, and 
sheds its leafy honours on the ground. 

CONSOLATIONS UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS, DRAWN 
FROM CONSIDERATIONS RESPECTING OTHERS. 

To these considerations which respect ourselves, let 
us next add those, which may be drawn from a regard 
to others; to the world about us. I observed in the con- 
solations which were offered to those on the sick bed^ 
that a comparative view of ourselves w ith others, and of 
our many superior advantages, was a strong motive to 
submission and thankfulness; the same may be applied 
in the present case. Compare your loss and your cir- 
cumstances with that of others, and you will soon see 
many more mournful and miserable than yourself. There 
are a thousand persons with whom you would not 
change conditions, nor be Avilling to lay down your own, 
upon an allowance to take up their burden. By what 
law is it that you must only gaze at those above you, 
and take no notice of those below; that you must look 
on him only who is carried on men's shoulders, and 
never think of the poor men that carry him! Look down, 
look down, oh child of sorrow, look to the many suffer^ 
ers beneath thee, and thou wilt learn, at once, acquies^ 
cence and content. For, be assured, that as the most 
certain method to feed an envious and discontented spi- 
rit, is to look up to those above you, so the surest me- 
thod to learn submission under the influence of Grod's 



UNDER TIIK' LOSS OF FRIENDS. 245 

grace, is to cast your eyes on those in the inferior sta- 
tions of life. 

Consider, moreover, that while you mourn the loss 
of one friend, you owe the tribute of duty and regard 
to others who surmve; for their sakes you should learn 
to moderate your grief and compose your mind. Be- 
cause you have lost a child will you forget that you 
have a husband? Because you have lost a husband will 
you forget you have children? Let not a concern for 
the dead totally obliterate a regard for the living. 

Again, you owe a duty as a Christian to your fellow^- 
christians. What will they think of your sincerity, when 
they see you overwhelmed with sorrow for the loss of a 
friend who is removed to God; for an affliction which 
your religion hath led you constantly to expect, and hath 
assured you is one mark of your adoption into the family 
of God, and a proof of his parental goodness: For whom 
the Lord loveth he chasteneth, even as a Father the son 
in whom he delighteth Nay, and perhaps God is pleased 
to propose you as an example; this loss may be sent not 
for the trying of your own faith solely, but for the ex- 
ample of others. And Avill you defeat the purpose of 
God, and be so far wanting in humble resignation, that 
others will have no advantage from your example; nay, 
that your profession will be reproached through you, 
who, upon trial, do not exercise tliat virtue, whicJi is 
the first in Christianity, and without which, (as we 
have before observed) all pretences to religion are vain, 
vain without an humble and filial submission of our will 
to God. 

Let us also consider, as in the former case, that if we 
are wholly wanting in this virtue under afflictions and 
losses, we are not only unworthy the name of his disci- 
ples, who through suffering entered into glory, but we 
fall short of many heathens. A Spartan woman had five 
sons in the army upon the day of battle; when a soldier 
came running from the camp to bring tidings to the 
city, she w^as waiting at the gate; and inquiring what 
newSy " thy five sons are slain,^^ said the messenger. 
^' I did not inquire after them/*^ said she; " how goes it 



246 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

in the field of battle?^^ " AYe have gained the victory," 
said he, " Sparta is safe.'^ " Then/' said she, " Let us 
be thankful to the gods for our deliverance and our 
country's freedom.'' Zeno, the philosopher, lost all he 
had in a shipwreck; he protested it was the best voyage 
he ever made in his life, because it proved the occasion 
of his betaking himself to the study of virtue and wis- 
dom. Seneca says, "1 enjoy my friends and relations, 
as one who is to lose them; and I lose them as one who 
hath them still in possession." And to the gods he 
speaks thus: " I only want to know your will; as soon 
as I know what that is, I am always of the same mind. 
I don't say you have taken from me, but that you have 
accepted from my hands what I was ready to offer!" 

Surely these noble sentiments should inspire us with 
a generous emulation to excel those who were so infe- 
rior to us in every advantage. And while we profess our- 
selves disciples of a Master, who has set us such an 
example of suffering and of patience, and who hath 
given us so many and great promises, Ave shall cheer- 
fully acquiesce in all his gracious disposals, receive 
good as well as evil with a thankful, resigned heart; 
that it may be said of us, as the Christians used to say 
of old, " we do not talk, but we live gi-eat things." 

Such are the arguments for submission and comfort 
under the loss of friends, which may be derived from a 
consideration of ourselves and others. Arguments which 
are so excellently applied by sir William Temple, in 
his famous letter to the countess of Essex, on her im- 
moderate grief, occasioned by the loss of her only daugh- 
ter, that, instead of recapitulating what hath been ad- 
vanced, I will subjoin, in the next section, that letter, 
which well deserves the most careful perusal. 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIEND8. 247 



SIR WILLIAM temple's LETTER OF CONSOLATION 

To Lady Essex , on the Loss of her only Daughter. 

I KNOW no duty in religion more generally agreed on, 
nor more justly required by God Almighty, than a per- 
fect submission to his will in all things; nor do I think 
any disposition of mind can either please him more, or 
become us better, than that of being satisfied with all he 
gives, and contented with all he takes away. None, I 
am sure, can be of more honour to God, nor of more 
ease to ourselves; for, if we consider him as our Maker, 
we cannot contend with him; if, as our Father, we 
ought not to distrust him; so that we may be confi- 
dent whatever he does is intended for our good, and 
whatever happens, that we interpret otherwise, yet we 
can get nothing by repining, nor save any thing by re- 
sisting. 

But if it were fit for us to reason with God Almighty, 
and your ladyship's loss be acknowledged as great as 
it could have been to any one alive, yet, I doubt, you 
would have but ill grace to complain at the rate you 
have done, or rather as you do; for the first motions or 
passions, how violent soever, may be pardoned; and it 
is only the course of them which makes them inexcus- 
able. In this world, madam, there is nothing perfectly 
good, and whatever is called so, is but either compa- 
ratively with other things of its kind, or else with the 
evil that is mingled in its composition; so he is a good 
man that is better than men commonly are, or in whom 
the good qualities are more than the bad: so in the 
course of life, his condition is esteemed good, which is 
better than that of most other men, or wherein the good 
circumstances are more than the ill. By this measure, 
I doubt, madam, your complaints ought to be turned 
into acknowledgments, and your friends would have 
cause to rejoice rather than condole with you; for the 
goods or blessings of life are usually esteemed to be 
birth, health, beauty, friends, children, honour, riches. 
Now, when your ladyship lias fairly considered liow 



248 CONS^OLATIONS FOR THE AFFI.ICTED 

God Almighty has dealt with you in what he has given 
you of all these, you may be left to judge yourself, how 
you have dealt witli him in youi' complaints for what he 
has taken away. But if you look about you, and consi- 
der other lives as well as your own, and what your lot 
is in comparison with those that have been drawn in the 
circle of your knowledge; if you think how few are 
born with honour, how many die without name or chil- 
dren, how little beauty we see, how few friends we hear 
of, how many diseases, and how much poverty there is 
in the world, you will fall down upon your knees, and, 
instead of repining at one affliction, will admire so 
many blessings as you have received at the hand of 
God. 

To put your ladyship in mind of what you are, and 
the advantages you have in all these points, would look 
like a design to flatter you; but this I may say, that we 
will pity you as much as you please, if you tell us who 
they are that you think, upon all circumstances, you 
have reason to envy. Now if I had a master that gave 
me all I could ask, but thought fit to take one thing 
from me again, either because I used it ill, or gave my- 
self so much over to it, as to neglect either what I owed 
to him, or the rest of the world, or perhaps because he 
would show his power, and put me in mind from whom 
I held all the rest, would you think I had much reason 
to complain of hard usage, and never to remember any 
more what was left me, never to forget what was taken 
away. 

It is true, you have lost a child, and therein all that 
could be lost in a child of that age; but you have kept 
one child, and are likely to do so long; you have the 
assurance of another, and the hopes of many more. You 
have kept a husband great in employment and in for- 
tune, and, which is more, in the esteem of good men. 
You have kept your beauty and your health, unless you 
have destroyed them yourself, or discouraged them to 
stay with you by using them ill. You have friends that 
are as kind to you as you can wish, or as you can give 
them leave to be by their fears of losing you^ and being 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 249 

thereby so much the imhappier, the kinder they are to 
you. But you have honour and esteem from all that 
know you; or, if ever it fails in any degree, it is only 
upon that point of your seeming to be fallen out with 
God and the whole world, and neither to care for your- 
self, or any thing else, after what you have lost. 

You will say, perhaps, that one thing was all to you, 
and your fondness of it made you indifferent to every 
thing else; but this, I doubt, will be so far from justi- 
fying you, that it will prove to be your fault, as well 
as your misfoHune, God Almighty gave you all the 
blessings of life, and you set your heart wholly upon 
one, and despise or undervalue all the rest; is that his 
fault or yours? Nay, is it not to be very unthankful to 
Heaven, as well as very scornful to the rest of the world? 
Is it not to say, because you have lost one thing God 
hath given you, you thank him for nothing he has left, 
and care not w^hat he takes away? Is it not to say, since 
that one thing is gone out of the world, there is nothing 
left in it which you think can deserve your kindness or 
esteem? A friend makes me a feast, and sets all before 
me that his care or kindness could provide; but I set 
my heart upon one dish alone, and if that happen to be 
thrown down, I scorn all the rest; and though he sends 
for another of the same, yet I rise from the table in a 
rage, and say my friend is my enemy, and has done me 
the greatest wrong in the world; have I reason, madam, 
or good grace in what I do? Or would it become me 
better to eat of the rest that is before me, and think no 
more of what had happened, and could not be reme- 
died? 

All the precepts of Christianity agree to teach and 
command us to moderate our passions, to temper our 
affections towards all things below; to be thankful for 
the possession, and patient under the loss, whenever he 
that gave it shall see fit to take it away. Your extreme 
fondness was, perhaps, as displeasing to God before, 
as now your extreme affliction; and your loss may have 
been a punishment for your faults in the manner of en- 

32 



^50 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

joying what you had. It is^ at least, pious to ascribe 
all the ill that befalls us to our own demerits, rather 
than to injustice in God; and it becomes us better to 
adore all the issues of his providence in the effects, than 
inquire into the causes: for submission is the only way 
of reasoning between a creature and its Maker; and 
contentment in his will, is the greatest duty we can pre- 
tend to, and the best remedy we can apply to all our 
misfortunes. 

But, madam, though religion were no party in your 
case, and that for so violent and injurious a grief you 
had nothing to answer to God, but only to the world and 
yourself; yet I very much doubt how you would be ac- 
quitted. We bring into the world with us a poor, needy, 
uncertain life, short at the longest, and unquiet at the 
best; all the imaginations of the witty and the wise have 
been perpetually busied to find out the ways how to 
revive it with pleasures, or relieve it with diversions; 
how to compose it with ease, and settle it with safety. 
To some of these ends have been employed the institu- 
tions of lawgivers, the reasonings of philosophers, the 
inventions of poets, the pains of labouring, and the ex- 
travagancies of voluptuous men. All the world is per- 
petually at work about nothing else, but only that our 
poor mortal lives should pass the easier and happier for 
that little time we possess them, or else end the better 
when we lose them. Upon this occasion riches came to 
be coveted, honours to be esteemed, friendship and love 
to be pursued, and virtues themselves to be admired in 
the world. Now, madam, is it not to bid defiance to all 
mankind to condemn their universal opinions and de- 
signs, if, instead of passing your life as well and easily, 
you resolve to pass it as ill and as miserable as you 
can? You grow insensible to the conveniences of riches, 
the delights of honour and praise, the charms of kind- 
ness or friendship, nay, to the observance or applause 
of virtues themselves; for who can you expect, in these 
excesses of passion, will allow you to show either tem- 
perance or fortitude, to be either prudent or just? and 
for your friends, I suppose, you reckon upon losing 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 251 

their kindness- when you have sufficiently convinced 
them they can never hope for any of yours^ since you 
have none left for yourself or any thing else. You de- 
clare, upon all occasions, you are incapable of receiving 
any comfort or pleasure in any thing that is left in this 
world; and I assure you, madam, none can ever love 
you, that can have no hopes ever to please you. 

Among the several inquiries and endeavours after the 
happiness of life, the sensual men agree in pursuit of 
every pleasure they can start, without regarding the 
pains of the chase, the weariness when it ends, or how 
little the quarry is worth. The busy and ambitious fall 
into the more lasting pursuits of power and riches; the 
speculative men prefer tranquillity of mind, before the 
different motions of passion and appetite, or the com- 
mon successions of desire and satiety, of pleasure and 
pain; but this may seem too dull a principle for the 
happiness of life, which is ever in motion; and passions 
are perhaps the stings, without which they say no ho- 
ney is made; yet I think all sorts of men have ever 
agreed, they ought to be our servants and not our mas- 
ters; to give us some agitation for entertainment or ex- 
ercise, but never to throAV our reason out of its seat. 
Perhaps I would not always sit still, or would be some- 
times on horseback; but I would never ride a horse that 
galls my flesh, or shakes my bones, or that runs away 
with me as he pleases, so as I can neither stop at a ri- 
ver or precipice. Better no passions at all, than have 
them too violent; or such alone, as instead of heighten- 
ing our pleasures, afford us nothing but vexation and 
pain. 

In all such losses as your ladyship's has been, there 
is something that common nature cannot be denied; there 
is a great deal that good nature may be allowed: but all 
excessive and outrageous grief or lamentation for the 
dead, was accounted among the ancient Christians, to 
have something of heathenish; and, among the civil na- 
tions of old, to have something of barbarous; and there- 
fore it has been the care of the first to moderate it by 
their precepts, and the latter to restrain it by their law. 



252 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AtiyFLICTED 

The longest times that has been allow^ied to the forms 
of mourning by the customs of any countr)(y, and in any 
relation, has been but that of a year, in ^hich space 
the body is commonly supposed to be moulMered away 
to earth, and to retain no more figure of wL'at it was; 
but this has been given only to the loss of pai^ehits, of 
husband, or wife. On the other side, to children utf^nler 
age nothing has been allowed; and, I suppose, witi> 
particular reason, the common ground of all general 
customs, perhaps they die in innocence, and without 
having tasted the miseries of life; — so as we are sure 
they are w ell when they leave us, and escape much ill, 
which would, in all appearance, have befallen them if 
they had staid longer witli us. Besides, a parent may 
have twenty children, and so his mourning may run 
through all tlie best of his life, if his losses are frequent 
of that kind; and our kindness to cliildren so young, is 
taken to proceed from common opinions, or fond ima- 
ginations, not friendship or esteem; and to be grounded 
upon entertainment, rather than use in many offices of 
life: nor would it pass from any person besides your 
ladyship, to say you lost a companion and a friend at 
nine years old, though yon lost one indeed who gave the 
fairest hopes that could be of being both in time, and 
every thing else that was esteem able and good; but yet, 
that itself, God only knows, considering the changes of 
humour and disposition, which are as great as those of 
feature and shape the first sixteen years of our lives, 
considering the chances of time, the infection of compa- 
ny, the snares of the world, and the passions of youth; 
so that the most excellent and agreeable creature, of 
that tender age, and that seemed born under the happi- 
est stars, might, by the course of years and accidents, 
come to be the most miserable herself, and more trouble 
to her friends by living long, than she could have done 
by dying young. 

Yet, after all, madam, I think your loss so great, and 
some measure of your grief so deserved, that would all 
your passionate complaints, all the anguish of your heart 
do any thing to retrieve it; could tears water the lovely 



UNDER THE LOSH OF FRIENDS. 253 

plant, so as to make it gi^ow again after once it is cut 
down; would sighs furnish new breath, or could it 
draw life and spirits from the wasting of yours; I am 
sure your friends would be so far from accusing your 
passion, that they would encourage it as much, and 
share it as deep as they could. But, alas! the eternal 
laws of the creation extinguish all such hopes, forbid 
all such designs: nature gives us many children and 
friends to take them away, but takes none away to give 
them us again. And this makes the excesses of grief to 
have been so universally condemned as a thing unnatu- 
ral, because so much in vain; whereas nature, they say, 
does nothing in vain; as a thing so unreasonable, be- 
cause so contrary to our own designs; for we all design 
to be well, and at ease, and by grief we make ourselves 
ill of imaginary wounds, and raise ourselves troubles 
most properly out of the dust, whilst our ravings and 
complaints are but like arrows shot up in the air at no 
mark, and so to no purpose, but only to fall back upon 
our heads, and destroy ourselves, instead of recovering 
or revenging our friends. 

Perhaps, madam, you will say this is your design, 
or if not your desire; but I hope you are not yet so far 
gone, or so desperately bent: your ladyship knows very 
well your life is not your own, but his tliat lent it you 
to manage, and preserve the best you could, and not to 
throw it away, as if it came from some common hand. 
It belongs, in a great measure, to your country, and 
your family; and therefore, by all human laws, as well 
as divine, self-murder has ever been agreed on as the 
greatest crime, and is punished here with the utmost 
shame, which is all that can be inflicted upon the dead. 
But is the crime much less to kill ourselves by a slow 
poison, than by a sudden wound? Now, if we do it, and 
know we do it by a long and continual grief, can we 
think ourselves innocent? What great difference is there 
if we break our hearts or consume them; if we pierce 
them, or bruise them; since all determines in the same 
death, as all arises from the same despair? But v»hat if 
it goes not so far? It is not indeed so bad as mU}\i be, 



254 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED 

but that does not excuse it from being very ill: though 
I do not kill my neighbour, is it no hurt to wound him, 
or spoil him of the conveniences of life? the greatest 
crime is for a man to kill himself; is it a small one to 
wound himself by anguish of heart, by grief or despair 
to ruin his health, to shorten his age, to deprive himself 
of all the pleasures, or ease, or enjoyments of life? 

Next to the mischiefs we do ourselves, are those we 
do our children and our friends, as those who deserve 
best of us, or at least deserve no ill. The child you 
carry about you, w hat has that done, that you should 
endeavour to deprive it of life, almost as soon as you 
bestow it? Or if, at the best, you suffer it to live to be 
born, yet, by your ill usage of yourself, should so much 
impair the strength of its body and health, and perhaps 
the very temper of its mind, by giving it such an infu- 
sion of melancholy, as may serve to discolour the ob- 
jects, and disrelish the accidents it may meet with in 
the common train of life? But this is one you are not yet 
acquainted with; what will you say to another you are? 
Were it a small injury to my lord Capel, to deprive him 
of a mother, from whose prudence and kindness he may 
justly expect the care of his health and education, the 
forming of his body, and the cultivating of his mind; 
the seeds of honour and virtue, and thereby the true 
principles of a happy life? How has my lord of Essex 
deserved, that you should go about to lose him a wife 
he loves with so much passion, and which is more, with 
such reason; so great an honour and support to his fa- 
mily, so great a hope to his fortune, and comfort to his 
life? Are there so many left of your own great family, 
that you should desire, in a manner wholly to reduce it, 
by suffering the greatest, and almost last branch of it, to 
wither away before its time? Or is your country in this 
age so stored with great persons, that you should envy 
it those we may justly expect from so noble a race? 

Whilst I had any hopes your tears would ease you, 
or that your grief would consume itself by liberty and 
time, your ladyship knows very w ell I never once ac- 
cused it, nor ever increased it, like many others, by 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. Z55 

ilie common formal ways of assuaging it; and this I am 
sure is the first office of this kind I ever went about to 
perform, otherwise than in the most ordinary forms. I 
was in hope what was so violent could not be so long; 
but when I observed it to grow stronger with age, and 
increase like a stream the further it run; when I saw 
it draw out to so many unhappy consequences, and 
threaten no less than your child, your health, and your 
life; I could no longer forbear this endeavour, nor end 
it without begging of your ladyship, for God's sake, and 
for your own, for your children's and your friends', for 
your country's and your family's, that you would no 
longer abandon yourself to so disconsolate a passion, 
but tliat you would at length awaken your piety, give 
way to your prudence, or at least rouse up the invinci- 
ble spirit of the Percies, that never yet shrunk at any 
disaster; that you would sometimes remember the great 
honours and fortunes of your family, not always the 
losses; cherish those veins of good humour that are 
sometimes so natural to you, and sear up those of ill, 
that would make you so unnatural to your children, and 
to yourself; but, above all, that you would enter upon 
the cares of your health, and your life, for your friends' 
sake, at least, if not for your own. For my part, I 
know nothing could be to me so great an honour and 
satisfaction, as if your ladyship would own me to have 
contributed towards this cure; but, however, none can, 
perhaps, more justly pretend to your pardon for the 
attempt, since there is none, I am sure, that has always 
had at heart a greater honour for your ladyship's fa- 
mily, nor can have for your person more devotion and 
esteem. 



Q56 CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED ^ 

CONCLUSIONS OF CONSOLATIONS UNDER THE LOSS OF 
FRIENDS. 

Such is the advice wliicli this great man gives to en- 
force the duty of submission to God^s will; a duty, as 
he well observes, most acceptable to God, and most be- 
coming us. And, I trust, that a serious reflection on 
these arguments on what hath been offered in this and 
the former sections to instruct and comfort, will not fail 
of its desired effect; but that, whenever we are tried with 
the loss of friends, the considerations drawn from a re- 
gard to God, to our deceased friends, to our ownselves, 
and to others that survive, will render us patient and 
resigned, and enable us to say, in the words of the most 
eminent pattern of resignation, Father^ thy will be dome! 

How blessed is such a temper! what a source of 
everlasting comforts ! Surely we shall be anxious to ob- 
tain it, especially as there is so great need of it amongst 
such a variety of changes and chances as human na- 
ture is heir to; and, to obtain it, permit me to observe, 
in conclusion, one way will be to know and to remove 
the great obstacles and impediments to it. These are 
unbelief J which, in whatever degree it prevails, lessens 
the influence of invisible things. Did we believe the 
sincere word of God, did we firmly and undoubtedly 
rely on the promises of Christ, how could we sorrow, 
as men without hope, for those that sleep in him, for 
those that sleep the happy slumber of death, to awaken 
to immortality and glory! the stronger our faith, the 
greater will be our resignation and comfort. 

Impatience^ and an indulgence of self-will, is another 
great impediment to resignation; this is in all respects, 
an un happiness. Parents should early look to this evil 
in their offspring; from an indulgence of self-will in 
childhood what miseries are often treasured up for our 
growing years! Indeed, no people have their will less 
than they who are for having it always; they draw more 
troubles upon themselves^ and feel them deeper. Take 
away self-will, and you take away a thousand sorrows 



UNDER THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. %^7 

which self-will creates to itself, and from which resig- 
nation totally delivers. 

Too great expectations from the world and the things 
of it, is another impediment to this heavenly temper; the 
higher we rise in our expectations and opinions of things, 
the lower we fall in the vexations of disappointment. We 
cannot expect too little from a vain, delusive, and tran- 
sitory scene like the present. Very strong affections also 
make way for great sorrows, and render submission to 
Providence more diSicult. We should be careful, in all 
our affections for temporal blessings, to remember, that 
they are mortal and mutable. 

An unwillingness to reflect on scenes of parting, 
makes parting more painful, and resignation more un- 
easy; he that will die well, must die daily: so he who 
will resign well, must practice upon resignation, and 
frequently search into his own mind. — What if I should 
return home this evening and find my house in flames? 
That fair estate, which is now the supply of my wants, 
what if it should take wings and fly away? what if the 
desire of my eyes should be taken off with a stroke, or 
that pretty and beloved child, I should see it lie a dead 
corpse? that which I now lay in my bosom, I should 
then not be able to bear in my sight? What should I 
then do? how should I then behave? am I prepared for 
such a case? If not, I have the more reason to think of 
it beforehand. If I am prepared for it, then I can the 
better bear to think of it now; or else how shall I bear 
the thing itself, when by refusing to think of it at all be- 
forehand, I have continued to make it more intolerably 
afflictive. Sudden and unexpected evils always affect 
us most; the mind bears with fortitude what it foresees, 
and is prepared to encounter. 

Lastly, another impediment to resignation is an over- 
weening opinion of our own deserts. This leads us to 
think that God hath dealt liardly with us; also, whereas, 
would we but remember that all we have is liis free 
gift, that we neither have nor can deserve any thing 
from him; nay, rather that we deserve punishment only; 
— we shall bow our heads with true submission. Hu- 

33 



258 CONSOLATIONS yOU THE AFFLICTED. 

mility is the ground work of almost every virtue, but es- 
pecially of resignation; and when Ave reflect seriously on 
ourselves, surely we can never be deficient in humility! 

On ourselves, who shortly must follow the beloved 
friends whom we lament; — must shortly mingle like 
them, with the dust of the earth, and enter into the un- 
known world! of the blessings of which we are satisfied, 
want of resignation will certainly deprive us; and there- 
fore as the hope of once more meeting our dear depart- 
ed friends in glory is one of the strongest motives for 
comfort, so ought it to be the strongest motive for re- 
signation^ if we Avish that hope to be rationally found- 
ed! Let us therefore consider ourselves and our friends 
only as so many pilgrims and sojourners, travelling for- 
ward to our father's house; let us consider those who 
are departed only as arrived there something before us; 
and though we may tenderly lament the loss of their 
sweet society, the endearments of their friendship, the 
kindness and support of their aid; though all we love 
and all we esteem is withdrawn, when they are with- 
drawn from us; yet let us console our hearts with this 
pleasing remembrance, that we too shall shortly finish 
our journey, that we too shall shortly lay aside our 
Palmer's weeds, those robes of mortality; and shall 
shortly quit these houses of clay: which surely we may 
quit more contentedly, when all, who are valuable to 
us, have already forsaken them, and are waiting to re- 
ceive us in a place, where arguments of consolation 
shall no more be needful, where the tear shall for ever 
be wiped from our eyes, and the bitterness of sorrow 
for ever removed from our hearts! 

There, oh there may we meet all our Christian 
friends, with whom we have travelled peacefully toge- 
ther through the bad roads of this life; there may we 
meet all our deceased friends whom we love here be- 
low; and there we may for ever enjoy the happy fruits 
of our own constant endeavours to obey the commands, 
and to resign, as dutiful children, to the better will of 
our Father and our God, in Jesus Christ our only Lord 
and Saviour. Amen. 



A SERMON ON DEATH, 

BF HUGH BLJIIR, H D. F. R. S. 

Professor of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, in the University of 

Edinburgh. 

Man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about 
the streets. — Ecclesiastes, xii. 5. 

This is a sight which incessaQtly presents itself. 
Our eyes are so much accustoraed to it, that it hardly 
makes any impression. Throughout every season of the 
year, and during the course of almost every day, the fu- 
nerals which pass along the streets show us man going 
to his long home. Were death a rare and uncommon ob- 
ject; were it only once in the course of a man's life, that 
he beheld one of his fellow- creatures carried to the grave, 
a solemn awe would fill him; he would stop short in the 
midst of his pleasures; he would even be chilled with 
secret horror. Such impressions, however, would prove 
unsuitable to the nature of our present state. When 
they became so strong as to render men unfit for the 
ordinary business of life, they would in a great measure 
defeat the intention of our being placed in this world. 
It is better ordered by the wisdom of Providence, that 
they should be weakened by the frequency of their re- 
currence; and so tempered by the mixture of other pas- 
sions, as to allow us to go on freely in acting our parts 
on earth. 

Yet, familiar as death is now become, it is undoubt- 
edly fit, that by an event of so important a nature, some 
impression should be made upon our minds. It ought 
not to pass over, as one of those common incidents which 
are beheld without concern, and awaken no reflection. 
There are many things which the funerals of our fellow- 
creatures are calculated to teach; aud happy it were for 
the gay and dissipated, if they would listen more fre^ 



SCO A SERMON ON DEATH 

quently to the instructions of so awful a monitor. In the 
context, the wise man had described, under a variety of 
images suited to the eastern style, the growing infirmi- 
ties of old age, until they arrive at that period which 
concludes them all; when, as he beautifully expresses it, 
the silver cord being loosened, and the golden bowl bvo- 
Jcen, the pitcher being broken at the fountain, and the 
wheel at the cistern, man goeth to his long home, and the 
mourners go about the streets. In discoursing from these 
words it is not my purpose to treat, at present, of the 
instructions to be drawn from the prospect of our own 
death. I am to confine myself to the death of others; to 
consider death as one of the most frequent and consi- 
derable events that happen in the course of human af- 
fairs; and to show in what manner we ought to be af- 
fected, first, by the death of strangers, or indifferent 
persons; secondly, by the death of friends; and thirdly, 
by the death of enemies. 

I. By the death of indifferent persons; if any can be 
called hi different, to whom we are so nearly allied as 
brethren by nature, and brethren in mortality. When 
we observe the funerals that pass along the streets, or 
when we walk among the monuments of death, the first 
thing that naturally strikes us is the undistinguishing 
blow with which that common enemy levels all. We 
behold a great promiscuous multitude all carried to the 
same abode; all lodged in the same dark and silent 
mansions. There, mingle persons of every age and cha- 
racter, of every rank and condition in life; the young 
and the old, the poor and the rich, the gay and the 
grave, the renowned and the ignoble. A few weeks ago, 
most of those whom we have seen carried to the gi*ave, 
w^alked about as we do now on the earth; enjoyed their 
friends, beheld the light of the sun, and were forming 
designs for future days. Perhaps, it is not long since 
they w^ere engaged in scenes of high festivity. For them, 
perhaps, the cheerful company assembled; and in the 
midst of the circle they shone with gay and pleasing 
vivacity. But noAv — to them, all is finally closed. To 
them^ no more shall the seasons return, or the sun ariseo 



BY HUGH BLAIR. 261 

No more shall they hear the voice of mirth, or hehold 
the face of man. They are swept from the universe, as 
though they had never heen. Tlieij are carried away as 
icith a flood: The wind has passed over them, and they 
are gone. 

When we contemplate tiiis desolation of the human 
race; this final termination of so many hopes; this silence 
that now reigns among those who, a little while ago, 
were so busy, or so gay; who can avoid being touched 
with sensations at once awful and tender? What heart 
but then w^arms wdth the glow of humanity? In whose 
eye does not tlie tear gather, on revolving the fate of 
passing and short-lived man? Such sensations are so 
congenial to human nature, that they are attended with 
a certain kind of sorrowful pleasure. Even voluptuaries 
themselves, sometimes indulge a taste for funereal me- 
lancholy. After the festive assembly is dismissed, they 
chuse to walk retired in the shady grove, and to con- 
template the venerable sepulchres of their ancestors. 
This melancholy pleasure arises from two different sen- 
timents meeting at the same time in the breast; a sym- 
pathetic sense of the shortness and vanity of life, and a 
persuasion that something exists after death; sentiments 
which unite at the view of the house appointed for all 
living, A tomb, it has been justly said, is a monument 
situated on the confines of both worlds. It, at once, pre- 
sents to us the termination of the inquietudes of life, and 
sets before us the image of eternal rest. There^ in the 
elegant expressions of Job, the wicked cease from trou- 
hllng: and there the iceary be at rest. There the prison- 
ers rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppres- 
sor. The small and the great are there; and the servant 
is free from his master. It is very remarkable, that in 
all languages, and among all nations, death has been 
described in a style of this kind; expressed by figures 
of speech, which convey everywhere the same idea of 
rest, or sleep, or retreat from the evils of life. Such a 
style perfectly agi-ees with the general belief of the 
soul's immortality, but assuredly conveys no liigh idea 
of the boasted pleasures of the world. It shows how 



262 A SERMON ON DEATH 

much all mankind have felt this life to be a scene of 
trouble and care; and have agreed in opinion, that per- 
fect rest is to be expected only in the gi*ave. 

There, says Job, are the small and the great. There, 
the poor man lays down at last the burden of his wea- 
risome life. No more shall he groan under the load of 
poverty and toil. No more shall he hear the insolent 
calls of the master, from whom he received his scanty 
w^ages. No more shall he be raised from needful slum- 
ber on his bed of straw, nor be hurried away from liis 
homely meal, to undergo the repeated labours of the 
day. While his humble grave is preparing, and a few 
poor and decayed neighbours are carrying him thither, 
it is good for us to think, that this man too was our bro- 
ther; that for him the aged and destitute wife, and the 
needy children now weep; that, neglected as he was by 
the world, he possessed, perhaps, both a sound under- 
standing and a worthy heart, and is now carried by an- 
gels to rest in Abraham's bosom. — At no great distance 
from him, the grave is opened to receive the rich and 
proud man. For, as it is said with emphasis in the pa- 
rable, the rich man also died, and was burned.* He also 
died. His riches prevented not his sharing the same fate 
"with the poor man; perhaps, through luxury, they ac- 
celerated his doom. Then, indeed, the mourners go about 
the streets; and while, in all the pomp and magnificence 
of wo, his funeral is prepared, liis heirs, in the mean 
time, impatient to examine his will, are looking on one 
another with jealous eyes, and already beginning to 
quarrel about the division of his substance.— One day, 
we see carried along the coffin of the smiling infant; the 
flower just nipped as it began to blossom in the parent's 
view: and the next day, we behold the young man, or 
young woman, of blooming form and promising hopes, 
laid in an untimely grave. While the funeral is attend- 
ed by a numerous, unconcerned company, who are dis- 
coursing to one another about the news of the day, or 
the ordinary ajffairs of life, let our thoughts rather fol- 

* Luke, xvi. 22. 



BY HUGH BLAIR. 263 

low to tlie house of mourning, and represent to them- 
selves what is going on there. There, we would see a 
disconsolate family, sitting in silent grief, thinking of 
the sad breach that is made in their little society; and, 
with tears in their eyes, looking to the chamber that is 
now left vacant, and to every memorial that presents 
itself of their departed friend. By such attention to the 
woes of others, the selfish hardness of our hearts will be 
gradually softened, and melted down into humanity. 

Another day, we follow to the grave one who, in old 
age, and after a long career of life, has in full maturity 
sunk at last into rest. As we are going along to the 
mansion of the dead, it is natural for us to think, and 
to discourse, of all the changes which such a person 
has seen during the course of his life. He has passed, 
it is likely, through varieties of fortune. He has expe- 
rienced prosperity, and adversity. He has seen fauHRes 
and kindreds rise and fall. He has seen peace and war, 
succeeding in their turns; the face of his country under- 
going many alterations; and tlie very city in which he 
dwelt rising, in a manner, new around him. After all he 
has beheld, his eyes are now closed for ever. He was 
becoming a stranger in the midst of a new succession of 
men. A race who knew him not, had arisen to fill the 
earth. Thus passes the v/orld away. Throughout all 
ranks and conditions, one generation jmssethj and ano- 
ther generation cometh; and this great inn is by turns 
evacuated, and replenished, by troops of succeeding 
pilgrims. — O vain and inconstant world! fleeting and 
transient life! When will the sons of men learn to think 
of thee, as they ought? When will they learn humanity 
from the afflictions of their brethren; or moderation and 
wisdom, from the sense of their own fugitive state? — 
But, now to come nearer to ourselves, let us, 

II. Consider the death of our friends. Want of reflec- 
tion, or the long habits, either of a very busy, or a very 
dissipated life, may have rendered men insensible to all 
such objects as I liave now described. The stranger, 
and the unknown, fiiU utterly unnoticed at their side. 
Life proceeds with them in its usual train, without be- 



^64 A SERMON ON DEATH 

ins; affected by events in which they take no personal 
concern. But the dissolution of those ties Avhich had 
Ions; bound men toii;ethei> in intimate and familiar 
union, gives a painful shock to every heart. When a 
family, who, for years, had been living in comfort and 
peace, are suddenly shattered by some of their most 
beloved or respected members being torn from them; 
when the husband or the spouse are separated for ever 
from the companion who, amidst every vicissitude of 
fortune, solaced their life; who had shared all their 
joys, and participated in all their sorrows; when the 
weeping parent is folding in his arms the dying child 
whom he tenderly loved; when he is giving his last 
blessing, receiving the last fond adieu, looking for the 
last time on that countenance, now wasting and faded, 
wyph he had once beheld with much delight; then is 
thIRimc, when the heart is made to drink all the bitter- 
iie.^s of human wo. — But I seek not to wound your 
feeling by dwelling on these sad descriptions. Let us 
rather turn our thoughts to the manner in which such 
events ought to be received and improved, since happen 
they must in the life of man. 

Then, indeed, is the time to weep. Let not a false 
idea of fortitude, or mistaken conceptions of religious 
duty, be employed to restrain the bursting emotion. Let 
the heart seek its relief, in the free effusion of just and 
natural sorrow. It is becoming in every one to show, on 
such occasions, that he feels as a man ought to feel. At 
the same time, let moderation temper the grief of a good 
man and a Christian. He must not sorrow like those who 
have no hope. As high elation of spirits befits not the 
joys, so continued and overwhelming dejection suits not 
the griefs of this transitory world. Grief, when it goes 
beyond certain bounds, becomes unmanly; when it lasts 
beyond a certain time, becomes unseasonable. Let him 
not reject the alleviation which time brings to all the 
wounds of the heart, but suffer excessive grief to sub- 
side, by degrees, into a tender and affectionate remem- 
brance. Let him consider, that it is in the power of 
Providence to raise him up other comforts in the place 



BY HUGH BLAIR. 265 

of those he has lost. Or, if his mind, at present, reject 
the thoughts of such consolation, let it turn for relief to 
the prospect of a future meeting in a happier world. — 
This is indeed the chief soother of affliction; the most 
powerful balm of the bleeding heart. It assists us to 
view death, as no more than a temporary separation of 
friends. They whom we liave loved still live, though 
not present to us. They are oiily removed into a differ- 
ent mansion in the house of the common Father. The 
toils of their pilgrimage are finished; and they are gone 
to the land of rest and peace. They are gone from this 
dark and troubled world, to join the great assembly of 
the just; and to dwell in the midst of everlasting light. 
In due time we hope to be associated with them in these 
blissful habitations. Until this season of re-union ar- 
rive, no principle of religion discourages our holding 
correspondence of affection with them by means of 
faith and hope. 

Meanwhile, let us respect the virtues, and cherish 
the memory of the deceased. Let their little failings be 
now forgotten. Let us dwell on what was amiable in 
their character, imitate their w^orth, and trace their 
steps. By this means, the remembrance of those whom 
we loved shall become useful and improving to us, as 
well as sacred and dear; if we accustom ourselves to 
consider them as still speaking, and exhorting us to all 
that is good; if, in situations where our virtue is tried, 
we call itp their respected idea to view, and, as placed 
in their presence, think of the part which we could act 
before them without a blush. 

Moreover, let the remembrance of the friends whom 
"we have lost, strengthen our affection to those that re- 
main. The narrower the circle becomes of those we love, 
let us draw the closer together. Let the heart that has 
been softened by sorrow, mellow into gentleness and 
kindness; make liberal allowance for the weaknesses of 
others; and divest itself of the little prejudices that may 
have formerly prepossessed it against them. The greater 
havoc that death has made among our friends on earth, 

34 



2G6 A SERMON ON DEATH 

let us cultivate connexion more with God, and heaven, 
and virtue. Let those noble views which man's immor- 
tal character affords, fill and exalt our minds. Passen- 
gers only through this sublunary region, let our thoughts 
often ascend to that divine country; which we are taught 
to consider as the native seat of the soul. There, we form 
connexions that are never broken. There, we meet with 
friends who never die. Among celestial things there is 
firm and lasting constancy, while all tliat is on earth 
changes and passes away. — Such are some of the fruits 
we should reap from the tender feelings excited by the 
death of friends. But they are not only our friends who 
die. Our enemies also must go to their lomg home. Let 
us, therefore, 

III. Consider how we ought to be affected, when 
they from whom suspicions have alienated, or rivalry 
has divided us; they with whom we have long contend- 
ed, or by whom we imagine ourselves to have suffered 
wrong, are laid, or about to be laid, in the grave. How 
inconsiderable then appear those broils in which we had 
been long involved, those contests and feuds which we 
thought were to last for ever? The awful moment that 
now terminates them, makes us feel their vanity. If 
there be a spark of humanity left in the breast, the re- 
membrance of our common fate then awakens it. Is there 
a man, who, if he were admitted to stand by the death- 
bed of his bitterest enemy, and beheld him enduring 
that conflict which human nature must suffer at the last, 
would not be inclined to stretch forth the hand of friend- 
ship, to utter the voice of forgiveness, and to wish for 
perfect reconciliation Avith him before he left the world? 
Who is there that, when he beholds the remains of his 
adversary deposited in the dust, feels not, in that mo- 
ment, some relentings at the remembrance of those past 
animosities which mutually embittered their life? — 
" There lies the man with whom I contended so long, 
silent and mute for ever. He is fallen; and I am about 
to follow him. How poor is the advantage which I now 
enjoy? Where are the fruits of all our contests? In a 
short time we shall he laid together; and no remembrance 



I BY HUGH BLxUR. 2(57 

remain of either of us, under the sun. How many mis- 
takes may there have been between usP Had not he his 
virtues and good qualities, as well as IP When we shall 
both appear before the judgment-seat of God, shall I be 
found innocent, and free of blame, for all the enmity I 
have borne to himf'^ — My friends, let the anticipation 
of such sentiments serve now to correct the inveteracy 
of prejudice, to cool the heat of anger, to allay the 
fierceness of resentment. How unnatural it is for ani- 
mosities so lasting to possess the hearts of mortal men, 
that nothing can extinguish them, but the cold hand of 
death? Is there not a sufficient proportion of evils in the 
short span of human life, that we seek to increase their 
number, by rushing into unnecessary contests with one 
another? When a few suns more have rolled over our 
heads, friends and foes shall have retreated together; 
and their love and their hatred be equally buried. Let 
our few days, then, be spent in peace. While we are all 
journeying onwards to death, let us rather bear one ano- 
ther's burdens, than harass one another by the way. Let 
us smooth and cheer the road as much as we can, ra- 
ther than fill the valley of our pilgrimage with the hate- 
ful monuments of our contention and strife. 

Thus I have set before you some of those meditations 
"which are naturally suggested by the prevalence of death 
around us; by the death of strangers, of friends, and of 
enemies. Because topics of this nature are obvious, let 
it not be thought that they are without use. They re- 
quire to be recalled, repeated, and enforced. Moral and 
religious instruction derives its efficacy, not so much 
from what men are taught to know, as from what they 
are brought to feel. It is not the dormant knowledge of 
any truths, but the vivid impression of them, which has 
influence on practice. Neither let it be thought, that 
such meditations are unseasonable intrusions upon those 
who are living in health, in affluence, and ease. There 
is no hazard of their making too deep or pahifiil an 
impression. The gloom which they occasion is tran- 
sient; and will soon, too soon, it is probable, be dispel- 
led by the succeeding aft'airs and pleasures of the world* 



268 A SERMON ON DEATH, &c. 

To wisdom it certainly belongs, that men should be im- 
pressed with just views of their nature, and their state: 
and the pleasures of life will always be enjoyed to most 
advantage when they are tempered with serious thought. 
There is a time to mourn; as well as a time to rejoice. 
There is a virtuous sorrow, which is better than laughter. 
There is a sadness of the countenance^ by which the heart 
is made better. 



BY SAMUEL JOHjYSOJ>r, L. L. D, 
WRITTEN FOR THE FUNERAL OF HIS WIFE. 

Jesus said unto her, I am the Resurrection, and the Life; he that 
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; And 
whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. 

John, xi. 25, 26. 

To afford adequate consolations to the last hour^ to 
cheer the gloomy passage through the valley of the 
shadow of deaths and to ease that anxiety^ to which 
beings^ prescient of their own dissolution, and conscious 
of their own danger, must be necessarily exposed, is the 
privilege only of revealed religion. All those^ to whom 
the supernatural light of Heavenly doctrine has never 
been imparted, however formidable for power, or illus- 
trious for wisdom, have wanted that knowledge of their 
future state w^iich alone can give comfort or misery, or 
security to enjoyment; and have been forced to rush for- 
wards to the grave, through the darkness of ignorance; 
or, if they happened to be more refined and inquisitive, 
to solace their passage with the fallacious and uncertain 
glimmer of philosophy. 

There were, doubtless, at all times, as there are now, 
many who lived with very little thought concerning their 
end; many whose time was wholly filled up by public 
or domestic business, by the pursuits of ambition, or 
the desire of riches; many who dissolved themselves in 
luxurious enjoyments, and, when they could lull their 
minds by any present pleasure, had no regard to distant 
events, but withheld their imagination from sallying out 
into futurity, or catching any terror that might interrupt 
their quiet; and there were many who rose so little 
above animal life, that they Avere completely engrossed 



2ro A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 

by the objects about tbenij and bad tbeir views extend- 
ed no farther than to the next hour; in whom the ray of 
reason was half extinct, and who liad neither hopes nor 
fears, but of some near advantage, or some pressing 
danger. 

But multitudes tliere must ahvays be, and gi^eater 
multitudes as arts and civility prevail, who cannot 
wholly withdraw their thoughts from death. All cannot 
be distracted with business, or stunned with the cla- 
mours of assemblies, or the sliouts of armies. All can- 
not live in the perpetual dissipation of successive diver- 
sions, nor will all enslave their understandings to their 
senses, and seek felicity in the gross gratifications of 
appetite. Some must always keep their reason and their 
fancy in action, and seek eitlier lionour or pleasure from 
intellectual operations; and from them, others, more 
negligent or sluggish, will be in time fixed or awaken- 
ed; knowledge will be perpetually diffused, and curio- 
sity hourly enlarged. 

But, when the faculties were once put in motion, 
when the mind had broken loose from the shackles of 
sense, and made excursions to remote consequences, the 
first consideration that would stop her course must be 
the incessant waste of life, the approach of age, and the 
certainty of death; the approach of that time, in which 
strength must fail, and pleasure fly away, and the cer- 
tainty of that dissolution which shall put an end to all 
the prospects of this world. It is impossible to think, 
and not sometimes to think on death. Hope, indeed, has 
many powers of delusion; whatever is possible, how- 
ever unlikely, it will teacli us to promise ourselves; but 
death no man has escaped, and therefore no man can 
hope to escape it. From tliis dreadful expectation no 
shelter or refuge can be found. Whatever we see, forces 
it upon us; whatever is, new or old, flourishing or de- 
clining, either directly, or by a very short deduction, 
leads man to the consideration of his end; and accord- 
ingly we find, that the fear of death has always been 
considered as the great enemy of human quiet, the pol- 
luter of the feast of happiness, and embitterer of the cup 



A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 271 

of joy. The young man who rejoices in his youth, 
amidst his music and his gayety, has always been dis- 
turbed with the thought, that his youth will be quickly 
at an end. The monarch, to whom it is said that he is a 
god, has always been reminded by his own heai-t, that 
he shall die like man. 

This unwelcome conviction, which is thus continu- 
ally pressed upon the mind, every art has been employ- 
ed to oppose. The general remedy, in all ages, has been 
to chase it away from the present moment, and to gain 
a suspense of the pain that could not be cured. In the 
ancient writings, we, therefore, find the shortness of life 
frequently mentioned as an excitement to jollity and 
pleasure; and may plainly discover, that the authors 
had no other means of relieving that gloom with which 
the uncertainty of human life clouded their conceptions. 
Some of the philosophers, indeed, appear to have sought 
a nobler, and a more certain remedy, and to have endea- 
voured to overpower the force of death by arguments^ 
and to dispel the gloom by the liglit of reason. They 
inquired into the nature of the soul of man, and shewed, 
at least probably, that it is a substance distinct from 
matter, and therefore independant on the body, and ex- 
empt from dissolution and corruption. The arguments, 
whether physical or moral, upon whicli they established 
this doctrine, it is not necessary to recount to a Chris- 
tian audience, by whom it is believed upon more cer- 
tain proofs, and higher authority; since, though they 
w ere such as might determine the calm mind of a phi- 
losopher, inquisitive only after truth, and uninfluenced 
by external objects; yet they were such as required lei- 
sure and capacity, not allowed in general to mankind; 
they were such as many could never understand, and of 
w hich, therefore, the efficacy and comfort Avere confined 
to a small number, without any benefit to the unen- 
lightened multitude. 

Sucli has been hitherto the nature of philosophical 
arguments, and such it must probably for ever remain; 
for, though, perhaps, the successive industry of the stu- 
dious may increase the number, or advance the proba- 



Srs A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 

bility, of arguments; and, though continual contempla- 
tion of matter will, I believe, show it, at length, wholly 
incapable of motion, sensation, or order, by any powers 
of its own, and therefore necessarily establish the imma- 
teriality, and, probably, the immortality of the soul; 
yet there never can be expected a time, in which the 
gross body of mankind can attend to such speculations, 
or can comprehend them; and, therefore, there never 
can be a time, in which this knowledge can be taught in 
such a manner, as to be generally conducive to virtue, 
or happiness, but by a messenger from God, from the 
Creator of the world, and the Father of Spirits. 

To persuade common and uninstructed minds to the 
belief of any fact, we may every day perceive, that the 
testimony of one man, whom they think worthy of cre- 
dit, has more force than the arguments of a thousand 
reasoners, even when the arguments are such as they 
may be imagined completely qualified to comprehend. 
Hence it is plain, that the constitution of mankind is 
such, that abstruse and intellectual truths can be taught 
no otherwise than by positive assertion, supported by 
some sensible evidence, by which the asserter is secured 
from the suspicion of falsehood; and that if it should 
please God to inspire a teacher v»'ith some demonstra- 
tion of the immortality of the soul, it would far less 
avail him for general instruction, than the power of 
working a miracle in its vindication, unless God should, 
at the same time, inspire all the hearers with docility 
and appreliension, and turn, at once, all the sensual, the 
giddy, the lazy, the busy, the corrupt, and the proud, 
into humble, abstracted, and diligent philosophers. 

To bring life and immortality to light, to give such 
proofs of our future existence, as may influence the most 
narrow mind, and fill the most capacious intellect, to 
open prospects beyond the grave, in wJiich the thought 
may expatiate without obstruction, and to supply a re- 
fuge and support to the mind, amidst all the miseries of 
decaying nature, is the peculiar excellence of the Gospel 
of Christ. Without this heavenly Instructor, he who 
feels himself sinking under the weight of years, or 



A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 273 

melting away by the slow waste of a lingering disease, 
has no other remedy than obdurate patience, a gloomy 
resignation to that which cannot be avoided; and he 
who follows his friend, or whoever there is yet dearer 
than a friend, to the grave, can have no other consola- 
tion than that which he derives from the general mise- 
ry; the reflection, that he sufters only what the rest of 
mankind must suffer; a poor consideration, which rather 
awes us to silence, than sooths us to quiet, and which 
does not abate the sense of our calamity, though it may 
sometimes make us ashamed to complain. 

But so much is our conditicn improved by the Gos- 
pel, so much is the sting of death rebated, that we may 
now be invited to the contemplation of our mortality, 
as to a pleasing employment of the mind, to an exer- 
cise delightful and recreative, not only when calamity 
and persecution drive us out from the assemblies of men, 
and sorrow and wo represent the grave as a refuge and 
an asylum, but even in the hours of the highest earthly 
prosperity, when our cup is full, and when we have laid 
up stores for ourselves; for, in him who believes the 
promise of tlie Saviour of the world, it can cause no 
disturbance to remember, that this night his soul may 
be required of him; and he who suffers one of the sharp- 
est evils which this life can show, amidst all its varie- 
ties of misery; lie that has lately been separated from 
the person whom a long participation of good and evil 
had endeared to him; he who has seen kindness snatch- 
ed from his arms, and fidelity torn from his bosom; he 
whose ear is no more to be delighted witli tender in- 
struction, and whose virtue shall be no more awakened 
by the seasonable whispers of mild reproof, may yet 
look, without horror, on tlie tomb which incloses the 
remains of what he loved and honoured, as upon a place 
which, if it revives the sense of his loss, may calm him 
with the hope (if that state in which there shall be no 
more grief or separation. 

To Christians the celebration of a funeral is by no 
means a solemnity of barren and unavailing sorrow, but 
established by the cluuTh for other purposes. 

35 



274 A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 

First, for the consolation of sorrow. Secondly, for 
the enforcement of piety. The mournful solemnity of 
the burial of the dead is instituted, first, for the conso- 
lation of that grief to which the best minds, if not sup- 
ported and regulated by religion, are most liable. They 
who most endeavour the happiness of others, who de- 
vote their thoughts to tenderness and pity, and studi- 
ously maintain the reciprocation of kindness, by degrees 
mingle their souls, in such a manner, as to feel, from 
separation, a total destitution of happiness, a sudden 
abruption of all their prospects, a cessation of all their 
hopes, schemes, and desires. The whole mind becomes 
a gloomy vacuity, without any image or form of plea- 
sure, a chaos of confused wishes, directed to no parti- 
cular end, or to that which, while we wish, we cannot 
hope to obtain; for the dead will not revive; those whom 
God has called away from the present state of existence, 
can be seen no more in it; we must go to them; but they 
cannot return to us. 

Yet, to show that grief is vain, is to afford very little 
comfort; yet this is all that reason can afford; but reli- 
gion, our only friend in the moment of distress, in the 
moment when the help of man is vain, when fortitude 
and coAvardice sink down together, and the sage and 
the virgin mingle their lamentations; religion will inform 
us, that sorrow and complaint are not only vain, but 
unreasonable and erroneous. The voice of God, speak- 
ing by his Son and his Apostles, will instruct us, that 
she, whose departure we now mourn, is not dead, but 
sleepeth; that only her body is committed to the ground; 
but that the soul is returned to God, who gave it; that 
God, who is infinitely merciful, who hateth nothing that 
he has made, who desireth not the death of a sinner; to 
that God, who only can compare performance with abi- 
lity, who alone knows how far the heart has been pure, 
or corrupted, how inadvertency has surprised, fear has 
betrayed, or weakness has impeded; to that God, who 
marks every aspiration after a better state, who hears 
the prayer which the voice cannot utter, records the 
purpose that perished mthout opportunity of action, 



A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. ^75 

the wish that vanished away without attainment, who 
is always ready to receive the penitent, to whom sincere 
contrition is never late, and who will accept the tears 
of a returning sinner. 

Such are the reflections to which we are called by 
the voice of truth; and from these we shall find that 
comfort which philosophy cannot supply, and that peace 
which the world cannot give. The contemplation of the 
mercy of God may justly afford some consolation, even 
when the office of burial is performed to those who have 
been snatched away without visible amendment of their 
lives: for, who shall presume to determine the state of 
departed souls, to lay open what God hath concealed, 
and to search the counsels of the Most Highest? — But, 
with more confident hope of pardon and acceptance, 
may we commit those to the receptacles of mortality, 
who have lived without any open or enormous crimes; 
who have endeavoured to propitiate God by repentance, 
and have died, at last, with hope and resignation. 
Among these she surely may be remembered, whom 
we have followed hither to the tomb, to pay her the last 
honours, and to resign her to the grave: she, whom 
many, who now hear me, have known, and whom none, 
who were capable of distinguishing eitlier moral or in- 
tellectual excellence, could know, without esteem, or 
tenderness. To praise the extent of her knowledge, the 
acuteness of her wit, the accuracy of her judgment, the 
force of her sentiments, or the elegance of her expres- 
sion, would ill suit with the occasion. 

Such praise would little profit the living, and as lit- 
tle gratify the dead, who is now in a place where vanity 
and competition are forgotten for ever; where she finds 
a cup of water given for the relief of a poor brother, a 
prayer uttered for the mercy of God to those whom she 
wanted power to relieve, a word of instruction to igno- 
rance, a smile of comfort to misery, of more avail than 
all those accomplishments which confer honour and dis- 
tinction among the sons of folly. — -Yet, let it be remem- 
bered, that her wit was never employed to scoff at good- 
ness, nor her reason to dispute against truth. In this age 



^76 A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 

of wild opiaions, she was as free from scepticism as the 
cloistered virgin. She never wished to signalize herself 
by the singularity of paradox. She had a just diffidence 
of her own reason, and desired to practise rather than to 
dispute. Her practice was such as her opinions natural- 
ly produced. She was exact and regular in her devo- 
tions^ full of confidence in the divine mercy, submis- 
sive to the dispensations of Providence, extensively cha- 
ritable in her judgments and opinions, grateful for every 
kindness that she received, and willing to impart assist- 
ance of every kind to all whom her little power enabled 
her to benefit. She passed through many months of lan- 
guor, weakness, and decay, without a single murmur of 
impatience, and often expressed her adoration of that 
mercy which granted her so long time for recollection 
and penitence. That she had no failings cannot be sup- 
posed: but she has now appeared before the Almighty 
Judge; and it would ill become beings like us, weak 
and sinful as herself, to remember those faults which, 
we trust, eternal purity has pardoned. 

Let us therefore preserve her memory for no other 
end but to imitate her virtues; and let us add her exam- 
ple to the motives to piety which this solemnity was, 
secondly, instituted to enforce. 

It would not indeed be reasonable to expect, did we 
not know the inattention and perverseness of mankind, 
that any one who had followed a funeral, could fail to 
return home without new resolutions of a holy life: for, 
who can see the final period of all human schemes and 
undertakings, without conviction of the vanity of all 
that terminates in the present state? For, who can see 
the wise, the brave, the powerful, or the beauteous, car- 
ried to the grave, without reflection on the emptiness of 
all those distinctions which set us here in opposition to 
each other? And, who, when he sees the vanity of all 
terrestrial advantages, can forbear to wish for a more 
permanent and certain happiness? Such wishes, per- 
haps, often arise, and such resolutions are often formed; 
but, before the resolution can be exerted, before the v^ish 
can regulate the conduct, new prospects open before us, 



A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON, ^77 

new impressions are received; tlie temptations of the 
world solicit; the passions of the heart are put into com- 
motion; we plunge again into the tumult^ engage again 
in the contest, and forget, that what we gain cannot be 
kept; and that the life, for which we are thus busy to 
provide, must be quickly at an end. 

But, let us not be thus shamefully deluded! Let us 
not thus idly perish in our folly, by neglecting the loud- 
est call of Providence; nor when we liave followed our 
friends, and our enemies, to the tomb, suffer ourselves 
to be surprised by the dreadful summons, and die, at 
last, amazed and unprepared! Let every one whose eye 
glances on this bier, examine what would have been his 
condition, if the same hour had called him to judgment, 
and remember, that, though he is now spared, he may, 
perhaps, be to-morrow among separate spirits. The pre- 
sent moment is in our power: let us, therefore, from the 
present moment, begin our repentance! Let us not, any 
longer, harden our hearts, but hear, this day, the voice 
of our Saviour and our God, and begin to do, with all 
our powers, whatever we shall wish to have done, when 
the grave shall open before us! Let those, who came 
hither weeping and lamenting, reflect, that they have 
not time for useless sorrow; that their own salvation is 
to be secured, and that the day is far spent, and the 
night Cometh, when no man can work, that tears are of 
no value to the dead, and that their own danger may 
justly claim their whole attention! Let those who en- 
tered this place unaffected and indifferent, and whose 
only purpose was to behold this funeral spectacle, con- 
sider, that she, whom they thus behold with negligence, 
and pass by, was lately partaker of the same nature 
with themselves; and that they likewise are hastening 
to their end, and must soon, by others equally negligent, 
be buried and forgotten! Let all remember, that the day 
of life is short, and that the day of grace may be much 
shorter; that this may be the last warning which God 
"will grant us, and that, perhaps he, who looks on this 
grave unalarmed, may sink unreformed into his own! 



$78 A SERMON BY DR. JOHNSON. 

Let it, therefore, be our care, when we retire from 
this solemnity, that we immediately turn from our wick- 
edness, and do that which is lawful and riglit; that when- 
ever disease, or violence, shall dissolve our bodies, our 
souls may be saved alive, and received into everlasting 
habitations; where, with angels and arcJiangels, and all 
the glorious Host of Heaven, they shall sing glory to 
God on high, and the Lamb, for ever and ever. 



A SERMON 
ON RELIGIOUS CONSOLATION, 

BY THE REV. R. MOREHEAD, J. M, 

« 

Of Baliol College, Oxford, Junior Minister of the Episcopal Chapel, 
Cowgate, Edinburgh. 

In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation and weeping, and 
great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, and would 
not be comforted, because thej are not. — Matt. ii. 18. 

These words^ my brethren^ of the propliet Jeiemiali^ 
are applied, as you know, by the holy evangelist, to 
that very extraordinary and horrible incident which he 
relates in this chapter: the massacre of the young chil- 
dren, perpetrated by Herod, in the hope that the infant 
king of the Jews would thus be sacrificed to his jea- 
lous fury. In this expectation he was disappointed by 
the over-ruling hand of Providence; and we who, in a 
distant age and country, meet at this day for the pur- 
poses of religion, in the name of the child who was 
then spared, know, I trust, in what manner to value and 
to adore that watchful goodness, which, while it per- 
mitted the hearts of the mothers of Bethlehem to bleed, 
was yet laying firm, for all future generations of men, 
the foundation of their happiness and their hopes. To 
such extensive views of divine providence, it is the de- 
light of religion to conduct the. serious mind, and to 
clothe, with a mantle of celestial light, the most melan- 
choly appearances which this lower world exhibits. In 
the first instance, indeed, nature fixes our thoughts on 
the appearances alone; and when, as in the incident 
before us, we read of the mandate which the tyrant '^sent 
foiiJi to slay all the children that ivere in Bethlehem^ and 
in all the coasts thereof^ from tivo years old and inider/^ 



280 A SERMON BY THE REV. R. MOREHEAD. 

^ve can, for a tinie^ listen to no voice, except that which 
Ions; before had resoimdetl in the ears of the prophet, 
^' the voice of lamentation, and weeping, and great 
mourning; Rachel weejping for her children, and refus- 
ing to he comforted.^' 

In the hour in which I speak,* my brethren, such a 
voice, I fear, is but too frequent in the houses of our 
city; and many a tear is now falling from the eyes of 
parents over the lifeless remains of infant innocence and 
beauty. The same God, wlio, on one memorable occa- 
sion, permitted a bloody tyrant to be the minister of his 
inscrutable designs, in the destruction of holy inno- 
cents, more frequently sends disease among the young 
of his people; and, year after year, as at the present 
hour, many a s])otless soul returns to him, untried by 
the dangers, and unpolluted by the sins of that earthly 
course, on whicli it had begun to enter. It is an hour 
in whicli even religion must, for a time, be still, and 
listen, with sacred respect, to the voice of nature, which, 
even in its excesses of " lamentation, and weeping, and 
great mourning,^' is yet tJie voice of God in the human 
heart. When she may speak, liowever. Religion can 
utter the words of consolation; and it is her office to 
seize upon those hours when tlie hearts of some are 
broken with affliction, and when many are trembling 
with apprehension, and to press those lessons of wis- 
dom, which are heard too often with indifference, in 
the pride and the gay ety of common life. 

The sentiment expressed in the ie,^i, my brethren, 
accords with the feelings of human nature. The death 
of young children excites, perhaps, more ^' lamentation 
and gi^eai nfiourning,^^ than any other incident in the 
course of mortality. To those who are not parents, a 
dispensation of this kind may seem, perhaps, of a much 
less afflicting nature than many others. A child is but 
an insignificant object in the eye of the world, and seems 
but a trifling loss to society. To a parent, however, 

* Febiuaiy, 1808, when the disease of the measles was fatally 
prevalent. 



A SERMON BY THE llEV. R. MOREHEAD. 2S1 

those very circnmstances^ whicli render liis child of 
little value to others, are the most attractive. It is his 
delight to retire from the serious cares and busy occu- 
pations of men, into the unanxioiis scenes of childish 
playfulness; to repose his thoughts upon some counte- 
nances on which the world has left no traces of care, 
and vice has impressed no marks of disorder; and to 
find within his own house, and sprung from his own 
loins, some forms which recall the image of primaeval 
innocence, and anticipate the society of heaven. When 
these innocent beings are torn from us, we suffer a ca- 
lamity with which a stranger, indeed, will imperfectly 
sympathize, but of which the heart knoweth the bitter- 
ness; and the sorrow may only be the deeper, and more 
heartfelt, that it must be disguised and smothered from 
an unpitying world. 

The death of a young person, advanced to years of 
maturity, occasions a general sympathy. The grief of 
parents is then at once felt and understood. When ta- 
lents, which gave the promise of future distinction, and 
virtues, to which the declining years of a parent clung 
for support, are torn from the domestic circle which 
they blessed and adorned, there are few hearts so much 
closed to a fellow-feeling with human calamity, as not 
to be powerfully affected with such circumstances of 
deep distress. But this very sympathy of mankind is a 
source of consolation which alleviates the affliction by 
which it is occasioned. The sorrow excited by the 
death of a young child may often be as acute, but it is 
attended with much less sympathy. Here, too, parents 
have formed hopes which are only, perhaps, the greater 
and more unbounded, inasmuch as the foundation on 
which they rest is less certain and definite. These 
hopes are frustrated for ever; their child is as if he had 
never been; even his memory has disappeared from 
every heart but their own; and they cherish it with the 
deeper feeling, that there is no other breast in which it 
dwells. 

To such sorrows of the heart, my brethren, it is the 
office of religion to apply the words of consolation; and 

36 



282 A SERMON BY THE REV. R. MOREHEAD. 

when the first tumults of grief are at an end, to inspire 
the soul of tlie mourner with loftier sentiments. She 
suggests, in the first place, that, in the kingdom of God, 
there is no loss of existence; that the hand of infinite 
wisdom changes, indeed, the sphere of action in which 
the rational soul is destined to move, hut never deprives 
it of the being which the hand of beneficence bestowed. 
She points to a higher world, in which the inhabitants 
are " as little children;^' and she hesitates not to affirm, 
that the soul of infant innocence finds its way to that 
region of purity, the air of which it seemed to breathe 
while yet below. She speaks here with a voice of con- 
fidence which may sometimes fail to be inspired, even 
from the contemplation of a long life spent in the prac- 
tice of virtue. The best men have contracted many 
failings in the course of their earthly trial; and when 
we commit their bodies to the dust, while religion calls 
upon us to look forward to their final destiny with holy 
hope, she yet permits some foreboding fears to cloud the 
brightness of the prospect. In less favourable cases, all 
we can do is to withdraw our minds from the ^ices of 
the departed, and rather to fix them, with apprehension 
and purposes of amendment, upon our own; to raise 
our thoughts, at the same time, to the perfect goodness 
of God, Avhich seeth the secret springs of the heart, 
and judges not as man judges; which will forgive 
whatever can be forgiven, and which hath no pleasure 
in the death of the wicked. But when we follow to the 
grave the body of untried innocence, we at the same 
time restore to the Father of spirits the soul which he 
gave, yet unpolluted by the vices of time, and still an 
inmate meet for eternity. When the tears of nature are 
over, faith may here look up with an unclouded eye, 
and see the Saviour, whose descent upon earth cost so 
many tears to the mothers of Bethlehem, now speaking 
comfort to the mothers of his people, and telling them, 
that he who here below ^^ suffered little children to come 
unto liim^^^ still delights to throw around them the arms 
of his love, when, like him, they have burst the bonds 
of mortality. 



A SERMON BY THE REV. R. MOREHEAD. 283 

Besides this lofty source of consolation which reli- 
gion opens up to afflicted parents, she, in the second 
place, suggests to them some of the wise purposes which 
Providence may have in view in this afflicting dispensa- 
tion. Although the ways of Heaven are confessedly 
dark, and although we must, in many instances, bow 
down in resignation, without pretending to examine 
them, it is yet more pleasing wlien we can discover 
some of the designs which may be intended, and we 
are thus more easily reconciled to the evils which may 
accompany the execution of them. In the death of chil- 
dren. Providence seems, on a hasty glance, to be acting 
in a manner contradictory to its own plan; to be destroy- 
ing life ere it is well begun; to be depriving us of bless- 
ings which we can scarcely be said to have tasted; and 
while with one hand it gives, with another to be taking 
away. Let it, however, be considered, that it answers 
an important purpose in the government of the world, 
to keep men in mind of the constant sovereignty of God, 
and of his right to the entire disposal of the fate of his 
creatures. Let it farther be recollected, that we are prone 
to forget the hand from which our blessings flow, and 
that too often we do not discern its agency till these 
blessings are withdrawn. It is thus not an unpleasing 
aspect of the ways of Providence, to consider the death 
of a child as an interposition of Grod, by which he 
awakens the slumbering piety of the parent, and, by 
depriving him of the object of his mortal affections, 
leads his thoughts to immortality. 

We are all well aware, my brethren, of the influence 
of the world: we know how strongly it engages our 
thoughts, and debases the springs of our actions: we 
all know how important it is to have the spirits of our 
minds renewed, and the rust which gathers over them 
cleared away. One of the principal advantages, per- 
haps, which arises from the possession of children, is, 
that in their society the simplicity of our nature is con- 
stantly recalled to our view; and that, when we return 
from the cares and thoughts of the world into our do- 
mestic circle, we behold beings whose happiness springs 



284 A SERMON EY THE RKW R. MORKHEAl). 

from no small estimates of worldly good, but from the 
benevolent instincts of nature. The same moral advan- 
tages is often derived, in a greater degi^ee, from the me- 
mory of those cliildren who have left us. Their simple 
characters dwell upon our minds with a deeper impres- 
sion; their least actions return to our thoughts with more 
force than if we had it still in our power to witness 
them; and they return to us clothed in that saintly garb 
Avhich belongs to the possessors of a higher existence. 
We feel that there is now a link connecting us with a 
purer and a better scene of being: that a part of our- 
selves has gone before us into the bosom of God; and 
that the same happy creature which here on earth show- 
ed us the simple sources from which happiness springs, 
now hovers over us, and scatters from its wings the 
graces and beatitudes of eternity. 

To you, then, my brethren, who have suffered from 
the present visitation of Providence, religion thus un- 
folds the sources of consolation and of improvement. 
She calls upon you not to mourn as those who have no 
hope; to give the children of whom you have been de- 
prived into the hands of your and their Father; and 
when the first pangs of affliction are over, to lift up your 
thoughts witli that faith toward him, which may at last 
enable you to meet them in his presence for ever. Yet 
while she calls you not to mourn, she does not ask you 
to forget. This perhaps may be the language of the 
world. The loftier language of religion is, that you 
should remember whatever may contribute to your pu- 
rity and virtue; that you should sometimes meditate with 
holy emotion on those angel forms which are gone before 
you; and that, amidst the temptations of the world, you 
should call to mind, that their eyes are now impending 
over you, and feel the additional link which binds you 
to the higher destinations of your being. 

To us, my brethren, over whose houses the angel of 
death may now have passed, let not the scene which 
we have witnessed be unaccompanied with instruction. 
While we fall down in gratitude before Heaven, for the 
deliverance which we have hitherto experienced, let us 



A SERMON BV THE RKV. R. MOliEHEAD. 285 

confess that it is undeserved; that we have not, as we 
ought, blessed the giver of all our good; and let us 
henceforth resolve to have his goodness more constantly 
in our thoughts. Let us sympathize with our brethren 
in affliction, and feel that their sorrow may soon be ours. 
Above all, let us make it our firm resolution, to train 
up those children whom God may have spared to us, 
in the knowledge of him and of his laws^ that at what- 
ever hour of their future life the call may come, they 
may be found of him in peace, and that we too may, 
with them, glorify him in Heaven. 



EXTRACT FROM THE MOURNER, 

BY BEJyjAMIJV GROSVEJ^OR, D, D, 

HELP AGAINST IMMODERATE GRIEF WITH RESPECT TO THE 
PERSONS DEPARTED. 

Had not God a property in them as well as you, 
prior to yours, and superior? They were his, before 
they were yours: They are his, now they were no 
longer yours; by a thousand obligations, ties, and re- 
lations, that ought to take place of all our claims and 
pretensions. 

Should they have been immortal here, only to please 
you? to have lived, though weary of it; to have staid, 
though longing to be gone; and in misery, thougli fit 
for happiness? Should they be kept in the troubles of 
life, in the pains of sickness, and the infirmities of age; 
or at best, in the insipid repetition of the same round 
of things, only to prevent a vacancy in any of your 
amusements or delights? Is this thy Icindness to thy 
friend? 

Some parting time must come; why not this? If the 
time of parting with them was left to our choice, it 
would greatly increase our confusion. 

They are not extinct and gone out of being. Their 
manner of existence is changed, but the existence itself 
is not lost. They that are fallen asleep in Chnst, are 
not perished, 1 Cor. xv. 18. They are not blotted out 
of being, nor out of life, upon our Christian scheme. 

The degree of happiness in their present state of se- 
paration, whatever it is, affords a comfortable tliought. 
If they are absent from you, and from their own bodies, 
they are present with the Lord; which, I suppose, you 
w411 allow to he far better. So much better indeed, that 
for the sake of entering into it, it is worth a good man's 
while to die at any time, and leave any company upon 
earth, though ever so pleasant or good. 



288 EXTRACT FROM THE MOURNER 

The spii'it, that returns to God who gave it, is re- 
ceived by God, and welcomed in a manner suitable to 
the relation and character in which it arrives there. 
Blessed are ike dead ihat die in ike Lord, for they rest 
Ji*om their labours. They could have little or no rest here, 
what with labour and trouble, temptation and sin. What 
a vast improvement in knowledge must a disencumbered 
soul make in such a situation? JSTow we see darkly, as 
through a glass; but then face to face. If the pleasure 
be not so complete as after the resurrection, it must, 
however, be unspeakable, beyond all that this world af- 
fords. They are sure of their own salvation, and of be- 
ing the heirs of glory. And if the pleasure of assurance 
here be so transporting, as to give sometimes a joy un- 
speakable and full of glory; while we say with the apos-^ 
tie, we know and have believed the love which God hath 
towards us; what will it be for a soul to find itself safely 
landed in the world of perfection? Among spirits of just 
men made perfect; freed from all imperfections, natural 
and sinful; returned to their native soil, having left that 
foreign country where they ware pilgrims and strangers^ 
and got home to their father's house, ichere there are ma- 
ny mansions? In the best society and company, as well 
as the best place? Reviewing past dangers and labours? 
Admiring tlie wisdom of God, and his goodness that 
has brought them thither; and especially the goodness 
of that stroke we are riiourning over here? Their wor- 
ship must needs be spiritual, who are all spirit; without 
weariness, failure, or interruption. They have glorious 
scenes at present before them, and pleasing expectations 
of great and more glorious things: Such as the accom- 
plishing the number of the elect, and all that shall be 
saved; the fulfilling the great periods of prophecy that 
remain; the downfall of antichrist; the glorious appear- 
ance of our Lord Jesus Christ; the resurrection of the 
body; the abolition of death, and the solemn coronation 
of all the conquerors through the blood of the Lamb, to 
a kingdom that can never be shaken. 

Is this a condition to be lamented with incessant 
tears? Is it for people who are in such a case as this 



BY BENJAMIN GROSVENOR. 289 

that we go np and down in black, with downcast looks 
and weeping eyes? What one article of this happiness 
aforesaid is not Avorth more than the longest life of plea- 
sure and honour in the world? One would think that 
these things only wanted to be beiieved and tliought on. 
Would we fetch them back from this condition if we 
could? I am afraid we are so selfish, that if the resur- 
rection power were lodged in our hands for one day, 
w^e should immediately run to the graves of our dear 
departed, and fetch them back again. To stop our own 
sorrows for a while, we should begin theirs afresh, and 
bring them back to misery. They no sooner enter hea- 
ven, but they wish they had been sooner there. And 
the next wish is, that we may be with them too as soon 
as may be; and yet we wish a quite contrary way. 

I think of the happy meeting again, which all the 
world shall not be able to hinder after a few days are 
past. Let us not behave as if we were never to meet 
again. Do not mourn as without Jiope, Our religion 
teacheth us to believe, that in the separate state we shall 
not be without the society of our tleparted godly rela- 
tions and friends. The separate soul of the beggar, La- 
zarus, is represented as in the company, nay, in the 
bosom of his father Abraham; and the penitent thief 
was promised to be with Christ in Paradise. The spi- 
rits of just men are not perfected in order to be an as- 
sembly of mutes: nor is it likely they should be stran- 
gers to one another, when conversation in this imper- 
fect world produces acquaintance and social endear- 
ment. 

There will indeed be different ranks and orders of 
saints; different degrees of reward there, as of holiness 
here, and consequently of apartments and situations. 
But is it not the same in this world? Is every one in the 
same rank and station; of the same character, or title, 
and endowments? And yet we know one another, and 
converse together; a great deal of the beauty and plea- 
sure of society arising from this variety, as it will also 
there. 

37 



290 EXTRACT FROM THE IVIOURNER, 

At tlie resurrection you shall meet again in your 
glorified bodies^ as well as perfect spirits. For, all that 
sleep in Jesus will God bring with him; and will change 
their vile bodies^ and make them like his own glorious 
body. It was sown a natural body; it shall be raised a 
spiritual body, freed from all elementary dross; will feel 
no pain, can need no food; will never be weary, how- 
ever exercised or employed; without any appetites that 
tend to inordinacy. Our bodies then will be immortal. 
The children of the resurrection die no more. Incor- 
ruptible; soivn in corruption , it is raised in incoi^ruption. 
You will meet them with all these improvements, and 
to all these degiees far more delightful than ever. 

God will bring them with him as part of his glori- 
ous train; when Christ shall be glorified in all his saints, 
and admired in all that believe; as the trophies of all his 
conquests, the vessels of his grace, the members of his 
body, the spouse of his love, the shining instances of his 
faithfulness and power, the assessors of his court of 
judgment, and partakers of his glory. 

How joyful will that meeting be? How happy? How 
glorious? Never to part more! You were not always to- 
gether here; but you shall be always together after that 
meeting. The parting kiss, the word farewell, have no 
more room for ever. This meeting together again is 
what Christ purchased: for to this end Christ died and 
rose again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and 
the living, Rom. xiv. 9. This meeting together again 
is what the word of God has promised: for, this we say 
unto you, by the word of the Lord, that we shall be 
caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the 
Lord in the air; and so shall we ever be with the Lord, 
1 Thess. iv. 15. 

This is what the great God hath promised, and is 
very well able to perform. He is able to keep you from 
falling, and to present you faultless before the jrresence 
qf his glory, with exceeding joy. Jude 24. And they 
that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. 1 Thess. iv. 
14. The return of Christ, and of those who sleep in him, 
have the same grounds of credibility. Jfive believe that 



BV J^KNJAMIN GUOSVENOF. 291 

Christ died and rose again, then if you believe one, you 
may believe the other: nay, yon must and ought to be- 
lieve the other, upon the credit of the same evidence 
and authority. For if there he no resurrection of the dead, 
then is not Christ risen. 1 Cor. xv. 13. This general 
meeting is designed for general satisfaction. John xiv. 
20. At that day ye shall know. God the father will see, 
with satisfaction, the work of his hands in perfection, 
made fit to receive the communication of his endear- 
ments. The Lord .Jesus Christ will see the travail of his 
soul, and he satisfied in the full accomplishment of his 
design, in their complete felicity. The Holy Spirit will 
see, w ith satisfaction, the final success of his operations, 
in our perfect holiness and happiness. Angels W'ill be 
pleased to see the success of their ministrations; and 
gladly w^elcome us, the partners of their joys. And as 
to ourselves, what an inexpressible reciprocation of en- 
dearing love, and multiplied joy, to find ourselves all 
met together after our parting sorrows? When all things 
and persons, any way offensive, shall be gathered out 
and thrown aside? No falsehood, rancour, partiality, 
mistake, prejudice, infirmity, passion, or pride shall be 
met with there; nor any thing to hinder the heavenly 
pleasure circulating through every heart, and dwelling 
upon every face or tongue. You do not mourn as those 
in Acts XX. 35. Sorrowing, hecause they should see hi9 
face no more. 

Of immoderate grief, we may say, as Solomon does 
of extravagant mirth, what doth it? What doth it for 
them w^ho arer gone, or for you? It may do us much 
hurt, but can do them no good. It may weaken our bo- 
dies, and damage our health; it may sadden our spirits, 
deprive us of the comforts of life, and indispose us for 
the duties of it. And what then? What advantage to 
the departed from so costly a sacrifice to their memory? 
Do they need your tears, w ho have for ever taken leave 
of weeping? Could your cries call back the departed 
spirit, and awaken the body into life? Could you water 
the plant with your tears till it revived; you might weep 
like a cloud, and call nothing excessive that was likely 



292 EXTRACT FROM THE MOURNER, 

to prove successful. But there are no Elijahs now, who 
may stretch themselves npon the child, and bring back 
the soul. It is more reasonable to conclude with JDavid; 
Tiow he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring 
him hack again? I shall go to him, hut he shall not re- 
turn to me, 2 Sam. xii. 23. 

But if we could, would we have them walk over the 
precipice once more? Would we have them fight the 
battle over again, run the race again, be tempted, sin, 
and suffer again? Should they come back for our grati- 
fication, from that holy place to this place of sin? From 
that happy place to this place of trouble? From joy to 
sorrow, from rest and peace to new vexations? Their 
sentiments are different, their affections raised and en- 
nobled; and, as well as they loved you, they would not 
come back to you for all this world: and, as well as you 
loved them, you cannot, it seems, wish them joy of 
their new elevation and dignity. Should not our godly 
friends h^^ allowed to wear the crown they have been 
fighting for, and the prize for which they have been 
running? 

HELP AGAINST INORDINATE SORROW, FROM SOME CON- 
SIDERATIONS WITH REGARD TO OURSELVES. 

Self-love is at the bottom of our sorrow. I have 
lost a pleasure, and an advantage. I am mourning over 
the living rather than the dead. If one, every way the 
same, would make me easy, the sorrow is not for the 
departed, but for myself who survives.* 

No strange thing has befallen me; nothing but what 
is common to men. It is no more strange that a man 
should die, than that he should be born. Am I better 
than my fathers, who are dead and gone? Whom makest 
thou thyself? Where is the sense and reason of pre- 
tending to an exemption from the common lot of man- 

* Cicero on the loss of Scipio, Nihil enim mali accidesse 
Scipioni puto; mihi accidit, si quid accidit. Suis autem incommo- 
dis graviter angi, non amicum; sed seipsum amantis est. De 
•dmic. 



I 



BY BENJAMIN GROSVENOR. S93 

kind? Beloved^ thinlc it not strange^ as if some strange 
thing had happened unto you, 1 Pet iv. 12. For this is 
no strange thing that a mortal should die. 

I come into a family, and see one in a corner weep- 
ing and sighing; another is fallen upon a couch, unable 
to hold up the head; another is run up to a chamber, like 
David, to weep and cry out. Oh Absalom; my son, my 
son. What is the matter? Why, one that was born to 
die, is dead! Was it the first child, or husband, that ever 
died? No. Had you a patent from heaven against the 
common lot? No. Would yon have had God made him 
immortal to please you? He teareth himself in his an- 
ger. Shall the rock be removed out of its place for you? 
Job xviii. 4. 

How many mercies and comforts are continued to 
thee, that might also have been taken away? and how 
many troubles prevented, that might have befallen you? 
You have lost some children; it might have been all. 
You have lost all; it might Iiave been your husband 
too, or wife, at the same time. You have lost husband, 
or wife; it might have been also estate, and all the 
means of subsistence. Or suppose that is gone too; you 
have liberty, health, peace, and friends. Or suppose 
they are also gone; you are out of hell, and within 
reach of heaven: which, I will say, is a greater thing 
than any you have lost, and all these put together. Par- 
don of sin, and peace with God, may still be yours. 

Mourner. These, I fear, are not mine. 

Answer. Nay, then it is time to mourn over some- 
thing else than a dead friend. To mourn over a dead 
soul of your own, to mourn over a lost God, to sorrow 
for sin; these are infinitely more to your purpose than 
sorrowing for the dead. And there is at least this room 
to rejoice, that all these spiritual blessings may be had. 
You may be pardoned, accepted, sanctified, and saved. 
And it is a matter of great comfort that these things are 
possible and within reach. 

Mourner. But I would have had these spiritual 
blessings, with the life and enjoyment also of those that 
are gone. 



294 EXTRACT FROM THE MOURNER, 

Answer. That is, you would have every thing ac- 
cording to your desire and fancy; that God and provi- 
dence should take their orders from you, and consult 
your liking, before they execute their decrees. But, 
should it he according to thy mind! Job xxxiv. 33. He 
that has a pillow to lay his head upon, and yet (as one 
says) will needs lay it upon a stone; he that has many 
convenient seats to sit upon, and nothing will serve him 
but a bush of thorns; surely they must be very much 
in love with sorrow and melancholy, who enjoy so many 
blessings, and yet will slight all the pleasures of them, 
to pine away in the company of their wants. Under- 
stand what you now possess, as you would do if it were 
taken away, and then you will have a better relish for it. 

The miseries and troubles entailed on the posterity 
of Adam are numerous. They are compared to the 
sparks that fly up, for number. It is a mercy we escape 
any of them: that all these sparks do not kindle upon us 
together: that all these troubles do not seize upon us at 
once: that out of so many miseries we should have so 
few, when we are born to all, by descent; subject to all 
by nature; deserving of all by sin. 

Do you forget what your sins deserve? Shall a living 
man complain*^ a man for the punishment of his sin? 
Lam. iii. 39. A living man, when you might have been 
dead; for the punishment of sin, and you might have 
been damned? The punishment of sin, on this side of 
hell, is always less than our iniquities deserve. 

Mourner. I will hear the indignation of the Lord, he- 
cause I have sinned against him. 

Answer. '' Let every man, says one, when he com- 
putes what he wants of his desires, reckon as exactly 
how far he is short in his duty; and when he has duly 
pondered both, he will think it a very easy composition, 
though his wants should be unsupplied, provided his 
sins be pardoned; and will see cause to sit down con- 
tentedly with honest Mephibosheth. 2 Sam. xix. 23. 
What right have I yet to cry any more to the kingP'^ 

The good of affliction in general ought to be taken 
into the account^ as another consideration to assuage 



BY BENJAMIN GROSVENOR. 295 

our griefs. He for our profit chastises, says the apostle; 
and it was goodfm^ me that I was afflicted, says David. 

Afflictions have a tendency to awaken our repent- 
ance; to stir us up to search and try our ways, in order 
to twrn our feet unto God's testimonies, I will go and 
return to my place, till they acknowledge their offence. 
In their affliction they will seek me early. Hos. v. 15. 
And so it proved, Hos. vi. 1. Come let us return to the 
Lord: He hath tarn us, and he icill heal; he hath broken 
us, and he will bind us up. They help to wean us from 
tliis world, and make us more willing to depart. As we 
must needs be less fond of the w orld, the more trouble- 
some it is to us; and as it makes our dying the more 
easy and more welcome, to have sent those before us 
for whose sake we might desire to live, and with whom 
we desire to be; we have fewer ties and engagements to 
earth. The fibres being cut off, and the roots loosened, 
the tree falls with greater ease. 

Afflictions bring us to thoughtfulness and considera- 
tion, when all other means in the Vvorld can hardly do 
it. A man that can sit at a sermon as unmoved as if 
the joys of heaven, the sorrows of hell, and the eternity 
of both were no part of his concern: the excellency of 
God, the vanity of the world, the deformity of sin, and 
the beauty of holiness, shall leave him unmoved, if not 
asleep; he little regards the message, or the messenger: 
but let God send one of Job's messengers to tell him 
such a ship is lost, his house is burnt, or such a dear 
relation is dead; presently he is awake, and has more 
thoughts of heart in an hour, than he had before in a 
month. 

The patient bearing of such afflictions, and the sanc- 
tified improvement of them, is one mark of our son- 
ship, and the love of God to us. Should you lose the 
comfort of such an evidence by impatience? Heb. xii. 
7. If ye endure chastening, he dealeth icith you as with 
sons. To endure, seems to signify more than merely to 
be chastised; namely, to accept the chastisement, as 
from the hand of God, and to bear it with becoming 
decency and patience. TJiere is one remark more, pro- 



£96 EXTRACT FROM THE MOURNER, 

per for some mourners, from these words: If ye endure 
chastening^ he dealeth with you as with sons. What a 
mistake is it then to say, ^' If I was a child of God, he 
would not deal with me in such a manner;'^ when the 
text says, If ye endure chastening^ he dealeth with you 
as with sons? 

Affliction, well sustained, improves every part of 
our religion. It teaches compassion and sympathy to- 
wards others in their troubles. It gives an edge to our 
devotions, an ardency to our prayers, tenderness to our 
heart, and a life to our graces: it is the trial and triumph 
of our faith. Patience hath its perfect work: our reso- 
lutions for God are confirmed; so that we take faster 
hold of God, and of those things that cannot be taken 
from us. 

Our sorrows, at longest, are but short; and we shall 
shortly ourselves go the same way. How diminutively 
does the Apostle speak of the afflictions of this present 
time? Our light affiictions, which are but for a moment. 
2 Cor. iv. 17. You call them heavy, he calls them light: 
and those light afflictions but for a moment; and that 
moment of light afflictions worTcethfor us. You are apt 
to think they all work against you, but they work for 
you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 
The contrast lies between affliction and glory; light af- 
fliction, and the weight of glory; a light affliction for a 
moment, and a weight of glory eternal: spoken as much 
like an orator as like an apostle. And who was it that 
said all this? One that knew as well what affliction 
was, one that had as much of it to his share, as any man 
in the world. In labours more abundant; in stripes above 
measure; in prisons more frequent; in deaths oft. Of 
the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one; 
thrice was I beaten with rods; once was I stoned; thrice 
I suffered shipwreck; a night and a day I was in the 
deep. In journeyings often; in perils of waters; in perils 
of 7*obbers; in perils by mine own countrymen*, in perils 
by the heathen; in perils in the city; in perils in the wil- 
derness; ill perils in the sea; in perils among false breth- 
ren} in weariness and painfulness; in watchings often; 



BY BENJAMIN GROSVENOR. 297 

in hunger and thirst; in fasting often; in cold and naJced- 
ness: besides the care of all the churches, 2 Cor. xi. 
And yet, light ajlictions/ 

The time is short: it remains, that they that weep, 
should he as if they wept not 1 Cor. vii. The end of all 
things is at hand. I shall shortly know myself what it 
is to change worlds. It is more to the purpose to pre- 
pare for my own death, than fruitlessly to lament that 
of another. And to make sure of meeting my godly 
friends, is more now my business than to lose time in 
bewailing their parting. Establish your hearts^ for the 
coming of the Lord draws nigh, .Tames v. 8. 

It will be a double loss to lose the dear relations, 
and to lose the benefit of the affliction too: it is enough 
to have lost thein. Shall I lose the spiritual advantage 
that might be gained by such a trial, and into which it 
might be improved? 

Patient submission gives the surest possession of 
ourselves, and the best enjoyment of every thing else. 
In patience we possess our souls, Luke xxi. 19. With- 
out it, we have lost possession of ourselves: and he that 
does not enjoy himself, can enjoy nothing else; for 
whatever is poured into a tainted vessel is all spoiled. 

It is a dangerous tiling to provoke God by obstinate 
grief, lest a worse thing come unto us. For he has said, 
With the froiaard, I will show myself froward. Psalm 
xviii. 26. He that hath a froward heart, findeth no good. 
Prov. xvii. 20. Thorns and briers are in the way of the 
froward. He that keeps his soul (quiet and submissive) 
shall be free from them, Prov. xxii. 5. And after this, 
Ho I well to be angry? Would any one choose to walk 
upon thorns and briers, that could pick out an easier 
path? Where one tear falls upon the account of com- 
plying with God's will, a multitude fall in consequence 
of having our own will. Not only the miseries of this 
life, but the eternal miseries of the life to come, are 
owing to this unresigned self-will. It may be written 
on many a tomb. Here lies the body of JST, JV, because 
he would have his own will, 

38 



^98 EXTRACT FROM THE MOLTINER, 

HELP AGAINST IMMODERATE GRIEF, FROM CONSIDERA- 
TIONS WITH RESPECT TO OTHERS, AND THE WORLD 
ABOUT US. 

Compare your case with tliat of others, and you 
may easily observe more miserable and mournful ones. 
There are a thousand persons with whom you would 
not change conditions. By what law is it, that you 
must only gaze at those above you, and take no notice 
of those below? That you must look on him only who 
is carried on men^s shoulders, and think it a fine thing 
to be so mounted, but never consider the poor men that 
carry him, whose place you would by no means accept 
of? " You look with a greedy eye upon such a one's 
wealth,^' says bishop Patrick, "would you have it with 
Lis cares and fears, his conscience and mind? his igno- 
rance; perhaps his folly and vices? his ill taste of things, 
and incapacity of intellectual pleasures? his uncomfort- 
able prospects?^' 

Mourner, No! I would be myself what I am, with 
the addition of what I want. 

Answer, Are you sure of continuing what you are 
with that addition? Since no one can have all things, 
is not yours a good lot? What pretences have you for 
every good thing to centre in yourself? Was it always 
well Avith you as it is now? Formerly you had no be- 
ing: formerly you had none of those relations or pos- 
sessions you now lament. You have lost that which 
some never had. Can you say, you had rather never 
have had them than to lose them? If it was a good 
thing, the having it for a time was a greater good than 
not to have it at all. 

Compare yourself with the miserable sorrow^s and 
sufferings of others. You will find such a one has lost 
her pretty children; and at the same time a loving hus- 
band, that was better to her than ten sons. Another has 
lost a near relation, and with that near relation away 
went the means of subsistence. The sons of Zedekiah 
were slain before his face; and then his own eyes were 
put out, and he himself led into captivity. 2 Kings xxv. 



BY BENJAMIN GROSVENOR. 299 

David had the mortification of a beloved son dying in 
actual rebellion against his father^ his prince, and against 
his God. How much more terrible was that, than to 
close his eyes in a peaceful way? The mother of the 
Maccabees saw her seven sons tormented to death be- 
fore her face, and she afterwards herself underwent the 
same. The suflPerings of the primitive Christians, how 
grievous! The patient resignation of our English mar- 
tyrs to be burnt, how remarkable, how affecting, how 
glorious! If mankind were to bring together all their 
several troubles and calamities, in all their circumstan- 
ces of good and bad that attended them, and lay them 
in one common heap, on this condition, that when they 
had so done, every man was to come again to take up 
an equal portion of the miseries of life, and divide them 
equally; a great many who now complain would gladly 
take up what they brought, and go away contented. 

What if the great Grod designs that others who look 
on should have the benefit of my example and good be- 
haviour under such a trial as this? Hath he not a right 
to use me for such a purpose? And does it not become 
me to comport with it, and behave accordingly? Job 
lost his children, his estate, his health, and, in some 
measure, his reputation with his friends; his ease and 
peace; and all this to show the world a pattern of pa- 
tience: shall others have no benefit from the example 
of our behaviour? Though God can never want a cause 
of inflicting evil where sin is; yet this shows, that sin is 
not always the cause. Hast thou considered my servant 
Job, says God to Satan, that there is none like him in 
the earth, although thou movest me against Mm., to de- 
stroy him tcithout a cause. Job ii. 3. 

This resignation is the most distinguishing character 
of a Christian; that which does most undoubtedly dis- 
tinguish good men from bad. The externals of religion 
cannot do it, because they are common to the liypocrite 
and to the sincere. The hypocrite can hear and read, 
sing psalms and pray, and receive sacraments as the 
true Christian does, and administer them too, and preach; 
but to give up the will to God at his disposal, and obey 



500 EXTRACT FROM THE MOURNER, 

his will, is what no hypocrite can do, and continue such: 
for it is the essence of hypocrisy to pretend only to let 
God have our will, and yet resolve to have our own. 
And it is the evidence of sincerity to be thankful if God 
will let us have our own will; but contented with his, 
and submissive to it. All other parts of religion, I say, 
lie in common. If you hear sermons ever so attentively, 
the hypocrite will sit as demurely: they sit before me as 
my peojjie sit, Herod heard John gladly, and did many 
things. If you pray fervently and frequently, the hypo- 
crite may be as frequent, long, and copious. The Pha- 
risees^ for a pretence, made long prayers. You cannot 
come to the sacrament oftener, nor behave with more 
devotion than they do. Judas sat down with the twelve. 
If you entertain good discourse with great readiness in 
the scripture language, the hypocrite can do the same. 
Men may preach to others, and be cast away them- 
selves; may be companions to good men, as Demas was 
to Paul, and yet be lovers of this present world^ so as 
to forsake the disciples for it. Men may be any thing, 
and do any thing short of this resigned will to God, 
and yet be no Christians, But the surrender of our will 
to God, is a sacrifice of that sort, which demonstrates 
him that makes it to be a Christian indeed. 

The children of wrath are described from their not 
having resigned their will to God; fulfilling the desires 
of the flesh and of the mind, Eph. ii. 3. that is, their 
own wills, and not God's; their own wills in opposition 
to God's. And, they have altogether broken the yoke, and 
hurst the bonds. Jer. v. 5. Let us cast away his cords 
from us, and break his bonds in sunder. Psalm ii. The 
children of God, on the contrary, are described from 
the entire surrender of their will to God. *ls obedient 
children, not fashioning yourselves according to your 
farmer lusts, not acting merely according to your own 
will; but, as he who hath called you is holy, so be ye holy 
in all manner of conversation. David was a man after 
God^s own heart, and served his generation according to 
the will of God; while others are described as walking 
after their own imagination and lust, Jer. xxiii. 17o 



BY BENJAMIN GROSVENOR, 301 

The Devil will let you have as much religion as you 
please, without this; because he knows all religion, that 
leaves the will of man unresigned to God, will never 
rescue the soul out of his hands. 

Immoderate passion, for losing or gaining any thing 
in this world, is a reproach to religion, to good princi- 
ples, and the best prospects in the world. As if these 
were not sufficient to bear us up, and to bear us out; or 
to make an ample amends for the loss of any comfort. 
As if God, with all his perfections, and Heaven, with 
all its glories, were nothing: no, nothing to that 'child, 
that husband, that wife, that estate. I have seen a grief 
so stubborn and savage as to prove insensible to all the 
principles and prospects that could be mentioned. 

In such cases we fall short of many excellent hea- 
thens. We are outdone by those with whom we are 
ashamed to be compared, considering all things. Some 
of them had noble sentiments under the loss of estates, 
relations, or friends. Zeno lost all in a shipwreck: he 
protested it was the best voyage he ever made in his 
life, because it proved the occasion of betaking himself 
to the study of virtue and philosophy. Seneca says, he 
enjoyed his relations as one that was to lose them; and 
lost them, as one who had them still in possession. A 
Spartan woman had five sons in the army, on the day 
of battle. When a soldier came running from the camp 
to the city to bring tidings, she, waiting at the gate to 
hear his report, asked, " What news?'^ says the mes- 
senger, " thy five sons are slain.^^ " You fool,'^ says 
she, "I did not ask after them. How goes it in the field 
of battle?" ^^Why," says the messenger, "we have 
gained the victory: Sparta is safe.'^ " Then let us be 
thankful,'' says she, "to the gods for our deliverance 
and continued freedom!" 

Seneca speaks to God in such language as this; " I 
only want to know your will: as soon as I know what 
that is, I am always of the same mind. I do not say 
you have taken from me; that looks as if I were unwil- 
ling; but that you have accepted from me, which I am 
ready to oiFer." 



A SERMON 

BF WILLIAM SMITH, D. D, 

Late Provost of the College and Academy of Philadelphia. 
ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED PUPIL. 

O my God! my soul is cast down within me, therefore will I re- 
member thee.— PsaZm xliii. 6. 

It is elegantly said by the author of the book of 
Job,* who seems to have experienced all the dire vicis- 
situdes of fortune, '^ That man is born to trouble as the 
sparks fly upwards.'' 

These troubles, however, as the same author further 
observes, serve the wisest purposes, inasmuch as they 
are not the effects of what is called blind chance, but of 
that unerring Providence, which graciously conducts all 
events to the general good of the creature, and the final 
completion of virtue and happiness. " Affliction comes 
not forth from the dust, neither does trouble spring out 
of the ground.'^ Very far from it. At that great day, 
when the whole council of God shall be more perfectly 
displayed to us, we shall be fully convinced, that all his 
dispensations have been wise, righteous, and gracious; 
and thatf ^^ though no chastening for the present seems 
joyous, but grievous, nevertheless it afterwards yields 
the peaceable fruits of righteousness to them that are 
exercised hereby." 

Of the truth of this we might indeed soon be con- 
vinced, at present, were we but wise, and suffered our- 
selves to reflect on what we daily see. 'Tis with the 
greatest injustice, that men ascribe their sins wholly to 
worldly temptations, and inveigh upon all occasions 

' Gh.v. 6. 4 Hcb. xii. 11. 



304 A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. 

against this life on account of its vanities. These, if 
well attended to, would perhaps put us on our guard 
against sin; and, upon inquiry, it will be found that the 
great and general cause of all iniquity, is a stupid list- 
lessness, or want of consideration; which, like some vast 
weiglit, oppresses the more generous efforts of the soul, 
and bears all silently down before it, unless checked 
by the powerful hand of affliction. 

I sincerely pity the man who never tasted of adverse 
iniai and were I capable of wishing evil to any person, 
1 could not wish a greater to my greatest foe, than a long 
and uninterrupted course of prosperity. A flattering 
calm portends a gathering storm; and when the stream 
glides smooth, deep and silent on, we justly suspect that 
the sea or some declivity is near, and that it is soon to 
be lost in the vast ocean, or to tumble down some dread- 
ful fall or craggy precipice. 

Such appears his state to be, who never knew an ad- 
verse hour, nor took time to consider whence he came, 
where he is, or whither bound. There is room to be ap- 
prehensive lest, being drunk with prosperity, he should 
swim smoothly from joy to jov, along life's short cur- 
rent, till down he drops, through the pit of death, into 
the vast ocean of eternity! If we loved such a one, what 
more charitable wish could we indulge towards him, than 
that the chastening hand of heaven might fall heavy up- 
on him, arrest him in his thoughtless career, and teach 
him to pause, ponder, and weigh the moment — the eter- 
nal moment— '^ of the things that belong to his peace, 
before they are for ever hid from his eyes?'' 

That there should be any persons, endued with rea- 
son and understanding, who never found leisure in this 
world to reflect for what end they were sent into it, would 
seem incredible, if experience did not assure us of it. 
There are really so many affecting incidents in life (un- 
doubtedly intended to awaken reflection) that their hearts 
must be petrified indeed, one would think, and harder 
than adamant, or the nether millstone, who can live in 
this world without being sometimes affected, if not with 
their own, at least with the human, lot. 



A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. 305 

I hope it is far from being my character, that I am of 
a gloomy temper, or delight to dwell unseasonably on 
the dark side of things. Our cup here is bitter enough, 
and misfortunes sown too thick for any one who loves 
his species to seek to embitter the draught, by evils of 
his own creation. But there is a time for all things; and, 
on some occasions, not to feel, sympathise, and mourn, 
would argue the most savage nature. 

This day every thing that comes from me will be 
tinctured with melancholy. It is, however, a virtuous 
melancholy; and therefore, if publicly indulged, I hope 
it may be thought excusable. 

You know it is natural for those who are sincerely 
afflicted, to believe that every person is obliged to sym- 
pathise with them, and attend patiently to the story of 
their wo. But whether this be your present disposition 
or not, I shall say nothing, which you are not as much 
concerned to receive deeply into your hearts, as I am to 
pour it from mine. 

The general doctrine which I would enforce from the 
text (previous to my intended application of it) is that 
a constant feast was never designed for us here, and that 
it is the good will of our Father that we should be fre- 
quently roused by what happens to us and around us, 
to remember him, the great fountain of our being; and 
to cherish that serious reflection and religious sorrow, 
which may lead us to eternal joy. 

That we should observe such a conduct appears high- 
ly reasonable in itself. For next to the immediate praises 
of our great Creator, there is not an exercise that tends 
more to improve and ennoble the soul, than frequently 
to cast an eye upon human life, and expatiate on the 
various scene, till we lead on the soft power of religious 
melancholy, and feel the virtuous purpose gently rising 
in our sympathising breasts, thrilling through our in- 
most frame, and starting into the social eye in generous 
tears. 

It would be affronting your understanding to suppose 
that you think the melancholy here recommended, in any 

39 



306 A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. 

manner related to that gloomy despondency into which 
some people fall. No; my beloved brethren! It is that 
virtuous reflection, philosophic pensiveness, and religi- 
ous tenderness of soul, which so well suit the honour 
of our nature, and our situation in life. And much to be 
pitied is that man, who thinks such a temper unbecom- 
ing his dignity, and whose proud soul pretends never 
to be cast down from the lofty throne of stoic insensi- 
bility. 

Such a one, in the sunshine of his prosperity, may 
arrogantly boast that nothing can move him; and while 
the world goes well with him, he may remain blind to 
his error. But let Heaven stiip him of his gaudy 
plumes, and throw him back naked into that world, 
where he had fixed his heart, he will find to his cost 
that, though he never had the virtue to be cast down 
and feel for others, yet he will have the weakness to 
be cast down and become the most abject desponding 
thing alive for himself. 

When his transient honours are thus fled, his haughty 
looks will be humbled. He will begin to contemn his 
past folly, and to enter deeply into his own bosom. He 
will no more rely on the smiles of fortune, or the flatte- 
ries of men; but will acknowledge from dear-bought ex- 
perience, that, in this life, there is no sure refuge but 
God, nothing permanent but virtue, and nothing great 
but an humble heart, and a deep sense of the state of 
our immortality here. 

But besides personal aflliction (which is perhaps a 
last means) the all-gracious Governor of the world, still 
watchful to turn every event to the good of his creatures, 
without violating their moral liberty, has many other 
ways of leading them to the remembrance of himself. 
Whether we look within or around us, we shall find 
enough in the prospect to humble our souls, and to con- 
vince us that, not trusting to any thing in a world where 
all enjoyments are fleeting, we shall then only be safe in 
it, ^^ when we have put on the breast-plate of righteous- 
ness, and armed ourselves with the sword of the spirit.^^* 

* Galat. vi. 14, &c. 



A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. SOr 

^^Few and evil are the days of our pilgrimage here.''* 
God never intended this w^orld as a lasting habitation 
for us: and, on a just estimate of the things in it, evil 
will be found so continually blended with good, that 
we cannot reasonably set our affections much upon it. 
Wailing, weak, and defenceless we are ushered into it. 
Our youth is a scene of folly and danger; our manhood 
of care, toil, and disappointment. Our old age, if hap- 
pily we reach old age, is a second childhood. Wither- 
ed, weak, and bowed beneath our infirmities, we become 
as it were a living hospital of woes: a burden to our- 
selves, and perhaps an incumbrance to those we love 
most. 

This is the common state of our being. But besides 
all this, the number of evils in each of these stages is 
greatly increased, partly by our own misconduct, and 
partly by our necessary connexions with others. For the 
equitable judgments of God are often general. " All 
things come alike to all men; and there is Jbut one event 
to the righteous and to the wickedp-'f Moreover, many 
of those evils are of such a nature, that no prudence of 
ours can either foresee or prevent them. All the stages 
of life necessarily subject us to pains and diseases of 
body, and many of them to the acuter pains of an an- 
xious mind. 

Upon the whole, we may pronounce, from the high- 
est authority, that '' our life is but a vapour, which is 
seen a little while, and then vanish eth away, as a tale 
that is told and remembered no more; or as a wind that 
passes over and cometh not again.'' 

The man must be thoughtless, indeed, who is not 
humbled Avith these reflections. But suppose his own 
life should pass over as happily as possible, and he 
should feel but few of these evils himself; yet unless he 
shuts his eyes and his ears from the world around him, 
he must still find something in it, Avhich ought to move 
the tender heart to religious sorrow and remembrance 
of God. 

* Gen. :xlvil 9. f Eccles. ix. % 



308 A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. 

Our blessed Saviour himself, though more than hu- 
man, and conscious of no personal ill, cast his eyes upon 
Jerusalem and wept over it, on account of its impend- 
ing fate. Just so, if we cast an eye upon the world, we 
shall drop a tear over it, on account of the unavoidable 
misfortunes that prevail in it. 

Don't we often see tyranny successful, ruthless op- 
pression and persecution ravaging the globe, the best of 
men made slaves to the worst, and the lovely image of 
the Deity spurned, dishonoured, disfigured! How many 
men, of genuine worth, are cast out by fortune to mourn 
in solitary places, unseen, unpitied; while wickedness 
riots in the face of day, or pampers in lordly palaces! 
How many pine in the confinement of dungeons; or are 
chained down, for offences not their own, to the gallie^s 
for life! How many bleed beneath the sword, and bite 
the ground in all the sad variety of anguish, to sate the 
cruel ambition of contending masters! How many are 
deprived of their estates, and disappointed in their most 
sanguine expectations, by the malice of secret and open 
enemies, or, which is far more piercing, the treachery 
of pretended friends! How many boil with all the tor- 
tures of a guilty mind, and the bitterest remorse for ir- 
reparable injuries! How many pursue each other with 
the most implacable malice and resentment! How many 
bring the acutest misery upon themselves by their own 
intemperance! How many condemn their souls to a kind 
of hell, even in their own bodies, by an unhappy temper, 
and the violent commotions of disordered blood! How 
many are completely wretched in their families, and 
constantly galled by the unavoidable misfortunes of 
their dearest friends! 

On one side the distress of the needy, the injuries of 
the oppressed, the cries of the widow and orphan, 
pierce our ears. On the other, we hear the voice of la- 
mentation and mourning; our friends and neighbours 
weeping for dear relations suddenly snatched away, 
and " Refusing to be comforted because they are not.'^ 
Here one's heart is torn asunder by having a beloved 
wife or child snatched from his side! There another be- 



A SERMON BY AVILLIAM SMITH, D. D. S09 

wails the loss of an affectionate parent or brother! Here 
sturdy manhood drops instantly beneath the sudden 
stroke! There blooming yonth — Ah! my bleeding heart, 
wring me not thus with streaming anguish — There 
blooming youth falls a premature victim to a doom 
seemingly too severe! Beneath the cold hand of death, 
the roses are blasted; restless agility and vigour are 
become the tamest things; and beauty, elegance, and 
strength, one putrid lump! 

Surely, if we would think on these, and such things 
which ought not to be the less striking for being com- 
mon, and which render this life a scene of suffering, a 
valley of tears, we could not set our hearts much upon 
it, but should be arrested even in the mid-career of vice, 
and trembling learn to weigh the moment of things, and 
secure ^Hhe one thing needful.'^ All the tender passions 
could be awakened in our bosoms. Our sympathising 
souls would be cast down within us, and, alarmed at 
their own danger, would fly round from stay to stay, 
calling incessantly for help, till they could find a sure 
and never-failing refuge. 

But where is this never-failing refuge to be found? 
It becomes me now to point out some ever-flowing spring 
of comfort, some eternal rock of salvation, for the soul, 
after having thus mustered up such a baleful catalogue 
of certain miseries, to alarm and humble her. 

Now, blessed be the Lord, this refuge is pointed out 
in the text. In such circumstances, we shall never find 
rest, but in resolving with the Psalmist — O my God! 
my soul is cast down within me, therefore will I re- 
member thee.'^ 

Without remembering that there is a God, that over- 
rules all events, what hope or comfort could we have, 
when we reflect on all the aforesaid common miseries 
of life, and many more that might be named? Did we, 
with the atheist, believe them to spring up from the dust, 
or to be the blind effects of unintelligible chance, and 
of undirected matter and motion, what a poor condition 
should we think ourselves in here? Would not all ap- 
pear as " a land of darkness, as darkness itself, under 



SIO A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMfTH, D. D. 

the shadow of death^ without any order^ where the light 
is as darkness/^^ 

Surely we could not wish to live in the world upon 
such a precarious footing; as this. And yet we should 
not know whither to fly from it, unless into the darker 
state of dreary annihilation, at the thoughts of which 
the astonished soul shudders and recoils. Upon such a 
scheme, all our hopes would be thin as the spider's web, 
and lighter than chaff. that is dispersed through the air. 
Our adversity would hurry us into the most invincible 
despair, and our prosperity would be as a bubble burst- 
ing at every breath. Philosophy would be a dream, and 
our boasted fortitude mere unmeaning pretension. 

But on the other hand, if, " when our souls are cast 
down within us, we will remember that there is a God," 
whose great view in creating was to make us happy, 
whose design in afflicting is to reclaim us, and who go- 
verns the world by his providence only to conduct all to 
the greatest general good-— then, and not till then, we 
shall have sure footing. We shall neither raise our hopes 
too high, nor sink them too low. If fortune is kind, we 
shall enjoy her smiles without forgetting the hand that 
guides her. If she frowns, we shall feel our woes as men, 
but shall nobly bear them as Christians. For if we are 
really Christians, our holy religion teaches us that this 
scene of things is but a very small part of the mighty 
scheme of Heaven; that our present life is only the dim 
dawn of our existence; that we shall shortly put off 
this load of infirmities and be translated to a state, 
where " every tear shall be wiped from our eyes, and 
where there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor 
crying, nor pain, because the former things are passed 

away.^t 

If we are intimately convinced that unerring wis- 
dom, power, and goodness, hold the reins of the uni- 
verse, and are at peace in our own consciences, the 
storm of the world may beat against us; but, though it 
may shake, it can never overthrow us, 

* Job X. 22. - Rev. sxi. 4 



A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D.J). SU 

^^ Altliough the fig-tree sliall not blossom, neither shall 
fruit be on the vines; though the labour of the olive shall 
fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; though the flock 
shall be cut off from the fold^ and there shall be no 
herd in the stall; yet will we rejoice in the Lord, and 
we will joy in the God of our salvation.^^* Although 
misfortunes should besiege us round and round; though 
woes should cluster upon woes, treading on the heels of 
each other in black succession, yet when we remember 
God, and fly to him as our refuge, we shall stand col- 
lected and unshaken, as the everlasting mountains, amid 
the general storm. 

With our eye thus fixt upon heaven, trusting in the 
mercies of our Redeemer, and animated by the Gospel 
promises, we shall urge our glorious course along the 
track of virtue, bravely withstanding the billows of ad- 
versity on either side, and triumphing in every dispensa- 
tion of Providence. Though Death should stalk around 
us in all his grim terrors; though famine, pestilence and 
fell war should tear our best friends from our side; though 
the last trumpet should sound from pole to pole, and the 
whole world should tremble to its centre; though we 
should see the heavens opened, our judge coming forth 
with thousands and ten thousands, his eyes flaming fire, 
the planetary heavens and this our earth wrapt up in one 
general conflagration; though we should hear the groans 
of an expiring Avorld, and behold nature tumbling into 
universal ruin; yet then, even then, we might look up 
with joy, and think ourselves secure. Our holy religion 
tells us, that this now glorified judge was once our hum- 
ble Redeemer; that he has been our never-failing friend^ 
and can shield us under the shadow of his wing. The 
same religion also assures us, that virtue is the peculiar 
care of that Being, at whose footstool all nature hangs; 
and that, far from dying or receiving injury amid the 
flux of things, the fair plant, under his wise government, 
shall survive the last gasp of time and bloom on through 
eternal ages! 

* Habbak. iii. 17, 18. 



312 A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. 

And now, my respected audience, I think it is evi- 
dent that if we searcli all nature through, we shall find 
no sure refuge but in keeping a clear conscience, and 
remembering God. If we constantly exert ourselves to 
do our duty, and remember that there is an all-perfect 
Being at the head of affairs, the worst that can happen 
to us can never make us altogether miserable; and, with- 
out this, the best things could never make us in any de- 
gree happy. 

If, therefore, it is one great design of all affliction, to 
bring us to such a remembrance, and make us examine 
into the state of our own souls, I think I may be per- 
mitted to beseech you, by your hopes of immortal glory 
and happiness, not to be blind and deaf to the repeated 
warnings given you by your kind parent God. Though 
the afflictions do not happen immediately to you, they 
happen for you; and though all seems well at present, 
which of you knows how soon tlie Lord may visit you 
in his fierce anger? Which of you, young or old, can 
say that your souls will not next, perhaps this very 
night, be required of you? And think, O think, if you 
have never been led to remember God, by the repeated 
warnings given you in this world, how unfit a time it 
will be to remember him, when you are just stepping 
into the next; when (as you have seen in the case of 
many younger and stronger than most of you here), 
you shall be struck senseless on a death-bed at once, 
and know not the father that begat you, nor are con- 
scious of the tears of her that gave you suck? 

If you can but think on these things, the vanity of 
this world, and the eternity of the next; if you can but 
think on the value of those souls, for which a God in- 
carnate died, and sealed a covenant of grace with his 
blood, into which you have solemnly sworn yourselves; 
surely you will stop your ears against the allurements 
of the flesh, and the ^^ Voice of the charmer, charm he 
ever so wisely.'^ It may easily be gathered from what 
has been said, that this life has no continuance of un- 
mixt pleasure for us; and that what alone can alleviate 
its evils, or make its goods give us any substantial joy, 



A SKRMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. S13 

i§ a frequent reflection on the present state of things^ 
and the drawing near to God, in holy remembrance of 
his adorable attributes, and our own absolute depend- 
auce on him. 

Behold then once more this very God himself invites 
you to draw near to him, and commemorate him at his 
holy table.* Let him not, therefore, invite you in vain. 
Do not shamefully renounce your most exalted privi- 
lege, and ^vilfuUy cut yourselves off from the society of 
Chd^s universal chircli. 

You all know what is required to make you meet 
partakers of this holy communion. It is a steadfast faith 
in the gospel-promises and the mercies of God; a sincere 
repentance for past offences; an unfeigned purpose of 
future amendment, and an unbounded charity and be- 
nignity of heart towards all your fellow mortals, how- 
ever seemingly different in sentiment and persuasion. 

If you have these dispositions either begun now, or 
continued down to this day, from some earlier period of 
your lives, you need not fear, in all humility, to approach 
this holy communion. 

^^ Up, escape for thy life; look not behind thee; stay 
not in all the plain; fly to the mountain, lest thou be con- 
sumed;'^ was the alarm rung in the ears of Lot by his 
good angels. Even so, permit me, in the sincerity of 
my heart, to alarm and exhort you. Up! fly for your 
lives to the mountain of your God. Let not your souls 
find any rest in all the plain of this life, till you have' 
fixed on the everlasting rock of your salvation, and se- 
cured your interest in God, through Christ. Let no 
excuses detain you, nor linger while the danger is at 
hand. 

1 hope you will excuse my warmth on this occasion. 
I wish I had no ground for it. But the shafts of death 
fly thick around us. You cannot but miss many whom 
you saw- here a few Sabbaths ago; and some of them 
younger and stronger than most of you, particularly that 

* Preached on a Sacrament day. 



S14 A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMfTH, D. D. 

dear youth, whose sudden and much lamented death has 
forced this train of reflection from me. 

Such a dispensation ought to give particular warning 
to all; but to you more especially his dear companions 
and school-mates, I would apply myself; not doubting 
but the moral of his death will be acceptable to you, 
however unfavourably grave and serious subjects are 
generally received by persons of your years. 

From the example before you, let me intreat you to 
be convinced that you hold your lives on a very preca- 
rious tenure, and that no period of your age is exempt- 
ed from the common lot of mortality. But a few days 
ago, the deceased bore a part in all your studies and 
diversions, and enjoyed a share of health, strength and 
spirits, inferior to none here. You all knew and loved 
him, and I beheld many of you bedewing his grave 
with becoming tears. Oh then! let it be your care so to 
behave yourselves, that, at whatever period you may 
be called from thence, you may fall equally beloved, and 
equally lamented. 

Indeed if any external circumstances could have ar- 
rested the inexorable hand of death; if any thing that 
nature could give, or a liberal education bestow, could 
have saved such a rising hope of his country; late very 
late, had he received the fatal blow! He bid fair to have 
been the longest liver among you, and my eyes would 
have been for ever closed, before any one had been 
called to pay the tribute due to his memory. But the 
disease was of tlie most obstinate kind. All the power 
of medicine, and all the love we bore to him, could not 
gain one supernumerary gasp. He fell in his bloom of 
youth; and, as I long loved, so I must long remember 
him, with pious regard. 

To the will of Heaven, however, mine shall ever be 
resigned. '^ Shall we receive good at the hand of God, 
and shall we not receive evil also? The Lord giveth 
and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the 
Lord!" I sincerely believe that my dear pupil, your 
deceased school-mate, is now in a far better state than 
this. He has happily escaped from a world of troubles. 



A SERMON BY WILLIAM SMITH, D. D. S15 

He has but just gone a little before us, and perhaps ne- 
ver could have gone more beloved, more lamented, or 
more prepared for an inheritance in glory. 

What stronger proofs of affection could any one re- 
ceive than he did? Though at a distance from his im- 
mediate connexions, strangers tended his sick bed with 
paternal care. Strangers closed his eyes, while their own 
trickled down with sorrow. Strangers followed him to 
the grave in mournful silence; and when his dust w^as 
committed to dust, strangers paid the last tributary 
drop! ^ 

Yet, after all, to have a son so loved and honoured, 
even by strangers, and to be surprised with the news of 
his death before they heard of his sickness, must be a 
severe blow to the distant parents — > 

But, why, alas! did this thought occur? Again my 
affections struggle with reason — again nature thou wilt 
be conqueror — I can add no more. — I have now done 
the last duty of love — ^let silent tears and grief unuttera- 
ble speak the rest! 



A SERMON 

BF MCOB nUCHE, S. M. 

Fcrmeriy Rector of Christ Church and St. Peters, in Philadelphia. 

HOPE IN GOD, THE ONLY REFUGE IN DISTRESS. 

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disqui- 
eted within me? Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise him, 
who is the health of my countenance, and my God. 

Fsalm xlii. 11. 

It is a very mistaken notion^ which some persons 
are fond of entertaining, that tlie life of a Christian is 
one continued scene of tranquillity, cheerfulness, and 
joy; that the path to Heaven is strewed with roses; that 
there is nothing thorny or uneven to annoy the pilgrim's 
feet, no storms or tempests to retard his progress, no 
difficulties or dangers to encounter on the way. Such 
sentiments as these, have a very pernicious influence on 
the practice of mankind. Prone to indolence in spiritual 
things, and averse to religious exercises of every kind, 
they are apt to catch at the pleasing delusion, and are 
willing to think, that the victory is obtained, before they 
have even armed themselves for the combat. 

The truth is this: Ever since the unhappy fall of our 
first parents, good and evil are so mixed and interwoven 
in the present checkered and imperfect state of things, 
that we can neither obtain the former, nor avoid the lat- 
ter, without inexpressible labour, paiu, and anxiety. 
The disorders introduced by sin into the moral world, 
have darkened and corrupted the natural; so that, in 
either system, it requires more than human strength to 
separate the evil from the good, and thereby to obtain 
temporal and spiritual felicity. 

By the glorious scheme of redemption, indeed, the 
gootl providence of God has over-ruled these disorders 



318 A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 

and irregularities in such a manner, as to render them 
beautifully subservient to the supreme happiness of his 
moral creatures. Storms and tempests, pains and labour, 
are become necessary for the health and preservation of 
the natural vrorld: sorrows and anxieties, distresses and 
afflictions, inward struggles and pangs, are alike expe- 
dient for the purity and perfection of the moral. 

God, therefore, who, at one intuitive glance, beholds 
all the relations and connexions of things, like a wise 
and provident Father, affectionately anxious for the 
welfare of his children, makes use of all these natural 
means, in various measures and degrees, according to 
the particular situation and circumstances of men, to 
restore to them that primitive felicity which had been 
lost by sin. Or, to express myself in plain scriptural 
language — "It is through much tribulation we enter 
into glory: we must mourn before we can be comforted: 
— If we would be Christ's disciples, we must deny our- 
selves, and take up our cross and follow him: — The 
world must be crucified unto us, and we unto the world: 
—If we would receive an eternal weight of glory, we 
must have our share of those light afflictions, which are 
but for a moment: — If we would taste the peaceable 
fruits of righteousness, we must be exercised by those 
chastenings, which for the present are not joyous, but 
grievous.^' 

But if such be the Christian's state, such the difficul- 
ties, dangers, and distresses that attend it, surely he can 
have little joy or comfort in his progress. — There is 
something gloomy, melancholy, and forbidding in the 
prospect. So speaks the natural man, who is void of 
all spiritual discernment. Would such an one, however, 
deem any toil or danger too great to encounter, for the 
acquisition of some earthly object? Would he not com- 
pass sea and land, and risk his health, yea, his life, to 
obtain the fleeting enjoyment of honour, riches, or plea- 
sure? And will he wonder, then, that a Christian should 
be willing to face the darkest scenes, when he knows 
that through these he shall pass to the enjoyment of 
everlasting honours; of riches, which will not make 



A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 319 

themselves wings, and flee away; and of pleasures, in- 
conceivably exalted, unfading, and immortal? 

When the heavens gather blackness, when thunders 
roll over his head, and lightnings flash around his frame, 
the natural man, at the very time that his heart shud- 
ders at the awful scene, will tell you, that these con- 
vulsions of nature are absolutely necessary for the good 
of the creation; that the sun is still shining above the 
tempestuous atmosphere, and that ere long, its rays will 
dissipate the clouds, and exhibit to your view the happy 
effects of all this uproar and confusion. With this pleas- 
ing hope, he speaks peace to his intruding fears; and, 
though he trembles, yet he enjoys the storm. 

Thus it is with the faithful Christian. When over- 
taken in his spiritual progress, by the blackest tempests 
that the devil, the world, and the flesh, his most formi- 
dable adversaries, can raise, he will nevertheless press 
forward with unremitting eagerness and ardour; and 
though " his soul may be cast down, and disquieted 
within hira,^^ though his whole nature may be shocked 
by the violence of the blast, yet will he still " hope in 
Grod,^^ yet will he still speak comfort to his dejected 
spirit; as he is well assured, that all this could not hap- 
pen without the Divine Permission; that the Sun of 
Righteousness still shines in the firmament of his glory; 
and that the Prince of the Power of the Air, with all 
the horrors that surround him, must soon vanish before 
his all-piercing beams, and sink confounded to his in- 
fernal abode. 

The psalm from whence my text is taken, presents 
us with a lively picture of a true believer struggling 
under some violent assaults from the enemies of his 
peace. Whether the distress of David was occasioned 
by the persecution of Saul, or the straits to whicli he 
was reduced by the unnatural rebellion of his son Ab- 
salom; whether it proceeded from a deep sensibility of 
those remains of corruption, which lurk in the most 
regenerate breasts; or from an apprehension, that God 
had withdrawn " the light of his countenance'^ from his 
soul; in either of these cases, his affliction must have 



320 A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 

been acute indeed, and he might well break foi'th into 
this affecting strain of religious melancholy: "Why 
art thou cast down^ O my soul? And why art thou dis- 
quieted within me? Why dost thou suffer these out- 
ward afflictions to bear down thy constancy, or these in- 
ward struggles to weaken thy faith? — Hope thou in 
God!^^ — Hast thou not heretofore experienced, in innu- 
merable instances, the wonders of his love? — Hath not 
his arm supported thee in the greatest extremities? — 
Hath nri his countenance cheered thee in thy darkest 
moments? Why, then, this strange dejection now? O 
where is all thy wonted heroism fled? — where that lively 
trust and confidence in thy God, that has heretofore 
steeled thy breast against the arrows of adversity? ^^Is 
his arm shortened that it cannot save? Is his mercy 
clean gone for ever? And hath God forgotten to be 
gracious?^^ — ^No, my soul! — already do I feel his ani- 
mating presence — Sure I am, that "I shall yet praise 
him,'^ for delivering me out of my present distresses — 
Sure I am, that the sweet influences of his blessed spi- 
rit, will yet sooth my deep disquietude, and give health 
and cheerfulness to my dejected countenance — Yea, 
sure *I am, that he is still " my God,'^ my God by co- 
venant, my guardian God, the God of my life, the God 
of my love. 

Thus spake, thus triumphed, '* the man after God's 
own heart!*' Doubtless the conflict was severe and te- 
dious; but faith was at length victorious. Noble encou- 
ragement this to every one, that hath listed under the 
banners of Jesus Christ, and commenced his Christian 
warfare! — Come then, ye candidates for Heaven! ye 
followers of the Lamb! ye strangers and pilgrims upon 
earth! that have already entered upon your journey, 
through this valley of tears, to the Heavenly Canaan! 
Come, let us take a view together of the difficulties and 
dangers which we are taught to expect upon the road! 
Let us trace the sources of that uneasiness and disquie- 
tude to which the best of Christians are frequently ex- 
posed, and as we proceed, apply to them the noble pre- 
scription pointed out by the text: " Hope thou in God, 



A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 321 

for I shall yet praise him^ who is the health of my coun- 
tenance and my God/' 

The firsts and, I believe, the principal sources of 
the sincere Christian's heaviness and disquietude, are 
those remains of sin and corruption, which stain the 
purest and most regenerate breasts. Under the first 
openings of grace, the first dawnings of divine light 
and love upon the soul, the change from death to life 
is frequently so great and transporting, that the young 
unpractised convert is lost in admiration. — From the 
depths of his own misery and corruption, he is raised 
to such stupendous prospects of redeeming love, that^ 
like the disciples on Mount Tabor, he is unwilling to 
leave the divine effulgence that surrounds him, to de- 
scend from the height of gospel comfort, and to encoun- 
ter the innumerable obstacles that await his progress in 
the world below. — But when once the fervours of this 
first love are abated: when once the young candidate is 
called forth to testify his affection for his Saviour, by 
acts of obedience, patience, resignation, fortitude, un- 
der temporal as well as spiritual trials and calamities — 
then it is, that the clouds being to gather — ^the day of 
distress approaclies — " his sins take such fast hold of 
him, that he is not able to look up,'' — his secret corrup- 
tions start forth unexpectedly from every corner of his 
heart, and throw his whole soul into confusion. — It is 
an attack for which he is unprepared; from a quarter 
which he little expected. — Scarce is he able to recol- 
lect his past experience; or, if he does, it is not with a 
view to strengthen his faith, but to increase his melan- 
choly. In the full bitterness of his soul he is ready to 
exclaim: 

" O that I were as in months past, as in the days 
when God preserved me! when his candle shined upon 
my head, and when by his light I walked through dark- 
ness!" — Once I thought that I had gained a sure refuge 
in my Redeemer's arms; I hoped that my peace was 
made, that I was a child of God, and had received the 
earnest of the Spirit in my heart. But alas! I now fear, 

41 



322 A SERMON BY JACOB DUCIIE, A. M. 

that this was but a pleasing dream; tliat Satan transform- 
ed himself into an angel of light, to deceive my soul; 
that my conversion was a visionary thing, not a real 
change of my corrupted nature. — If this be not the case, 
whence is it that tlie sorrows of my heart are thus en- 
larged? — If I am indeed a child of God, " Why go I 
thus heavily, while the enemy oppresses me?" — And 
yet I hate these corruptions, which I feel so sensibly; 
and my greatest distress and uneasiness is, that I do feel 
them. The desire of my soul is towards God; and there 
is nothing in the whole world but what I would cheer- 
fully resign to be at peace with him. — Yea, I can lay my 
hand upon my heart, and safely declare, that giievous 
as the transgi-essions are, into which my corruptions 
have hurried me, yet I feel something within me, that 
bids me hope, that the God whom I have offended, is 
the God whom I love. 

Such are the sad disquietudes, which the latent re- 
mains of sin frequently awaken in the believer's breast! 
Many excellent Christians there are, who go thus mourn- 
ing and disconsolate to their graves; whilst a few, per- 
haps, after repeated conflicts, and repeated victories ob- 
tain at length that sweet assurance, which enabled the 
apostle to declare, that ^^ neither death, nor life, nor an- 
gels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 
nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any 
other creature, should separate him from the love of 
God, which is in Christ Jesus.-' 

As for those, who are still mourning, and refuse to 
be comforted, who are continually expostulating with 
themselves in the plaintive language of my text — " Why 
art thou cast down, O my soul! and why art thou dis- 
quieted withitt me;'' let us only ask them, whether the 
frame of their minds is in any respect similar to that of 
holy David's? — Doth thy soul, poor trembling Chris- 
tian! ^^ pant after thy God, as the hart panteth after the 
water-brooks? Art thou athirst for God, even the living 
God?" Are the desires of thine heart all centered in 
Christ Jesus? Dost thou wish to know him more fully^ 
to serve him more faithfully, to love him more ardently, 



A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 323 

to receive the sanctifying influences of his Spirit here, in 
order to be qualiiied to dwell in everlasting communion 
with him hereafter? Is this the real state of tliy mind? 
Take comfort then! ^^ Hope thou in God; for thou shalt 
yet praise him, Avho is the health of thy countenance 
and thy God/^ 

But are there no other sources of distress and dis- 
quietude to the sincere Christian, than the latent cor- 
ruptions of his own heart? Are not some of his severest 
trials occasioned by the afflictive dispensations of Divine 
Providence? Doubtless they are. For good and virtu- 
ous men are so far from being exempted from misfor- 
tunes and afflictions, that they are taught to expect . a 
double portion — '* for whom the Lord loveth, he cor- 
recteth; and chasteneth every son that he receiveth/'^ — 
Under the immediate influence of these severe visita- 
tions, the ^' soul is indeed cast down and disquieted;" 
it can scarcely penetrate the gloom, with which its 
sorrows encompass it, or discover the potent arm that 
struck the blow, and robbed it of its peace. Or if it 
should see the will of God in the infliction — how hard 
to resign! — to kiss the rod, and bless the correcting 
hand! 

When dire disease spreads its fatal venom through 
the human frame, and robs us of the bloom of youth, 
and the joys of health — when prosperity withdraws her 
smile, and poverty, with her attendant woes, succeeds 
— when death snatches a bosom friend or dear relative 
from our embraces — how difficult to adopt the language 
of the good old priest? " It is the Lord's will — ^let him 
do what seemeth him good."^ 

The recollection of former prosperity, and of all the 
spiritual and temporal blessings which an indulgent 
Heaven had with profusion sliowered on our heads, 
serves only to give additional weight to the present load 
of grief, and deepen the melancholy that clouds and op- 
presses the soul. The eye of Sorrow is perpetually look- 
ing back, and lamenting the loss of objects, in which 
the mistaken mind had fondly centered all its felicity. 
It rarely ventures to send forth one eager look into the 



324 A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 

region of Hope. It deems it impossible to turn a present 
distress into a present blessing: and can never conceive, 
that darkness itself should be the very substance through 
which the light of Heaven must again be rendered visi- 
ble to the benighted lieart. 

In the moment of Job's despondency, under the se- 
vere trials with which he was visited, he would have 
reasoned and spoke far otherwise than he did, had it 
suited the purposes of Heaven to unveil at that moment 
the secret design of his present affliction. Had he dis- 
cerned the angel that was '' riding in the whirlwind,^' 
— had he beheld " the hand that directed the storm,'^ 
he would doubtless have changed the language of his 
exclamation: — O my soul! he would then have said, 
though thou art not " as in months past, as in the days 
when God preserved thee;'^ ^oi have I a secret hope, 
that thou wilt soon feel again his reviving presence, and 
praise him for greater blessings than thou hast hereto- 
fore received. 

Indeed, my brethren, the most seemingly severe dis- 
pensations, if we could raise our thoughts, for a few 
moments, above the considerations of flesh and blood, 
would appear to be dispensations of mercy. Medicines, 
you know, are seldom sweet or palatable: — and yet, 
would you not thank your iihysicinn for administering 
them, when he knows they are necessary for the reco- 
very of your health? — And canst thou then, Chris- 
tian, repine, or be dissatisfied with thy Saviour, for 
mingling the bitter draught of affliction, when he fore- 
sees, that thine everlasting salvation, perhaps, depends 
upon the remedy? Every thing that ties thee to the 
world, keeps thee at a distance from Christ. Can thy 
Saviour more effectually testify his affection for thee, 
than by breaking these cords, and thus lessening thine 
attachment to the world? — Cease, therefore, to repine 
at thy loss! — Be not cast down or disquieted! — Thy 
God hath not forsaken thee — he is only preparing thee 
for better times — " Hope thou therefore in him, for thou 
shalt yet praise him, who is the health of thy counte- 
nance and thy God.'^ 



A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. S25 

Lastly, The world in which he lives, and the men 
with whom he is obliged to converse, administer liew 
causes of sorrow and disquietude to the sincere Chris- 
tian! The secret treachery of pretended friends, or the 
open malice of avowed enemies, the general disrespect 
and contempt with which virtue is treated, and the ho- 
nours and encouragement which are given to vice, all 
conspire to wound his breast, and even to render him 
less pleased than he wishes to be, with the society of 
his felloAV creatures. For who that has the least spai'k 
of zeal for the honour of his God, can bear to hear his 
name blasphemed, and his religion ridiculed; to see his 
precepts violated with impunity, and his ordinances neg- 
lected and despised? — And yet, to oppose these prevail- 
ing enormities, to testify an abhorrence of them by pri- 
vate reproofs, or public censures, is sometimes deemed 
rudeness and impertinence. Yea, such is the sad dege- 
neracy of mankind, that if we would be truly religious, 
now-a-days, we must dare to be singular. 

But be not thou discouraged, thou child of God! 
Though placed in the midst of a crooked and perverse 
generation, thou hast reason to say, ^nth David, ^' Wo 
is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Meshech, 
and to have my habitation among J;he tents of Kedarl 
— O that I had the wings of a dove, for then would I 
flee away, and be at rest!^' — though integrity, upright- 
ness, and the fear of God should be even banished from 
the abodes of men — though the church of God should 
be laid level with the dust, and the disciples of a cruci- 
fied Jesus be ridiculed and reviled — yet fear thou not, 
neither be dismayed! — God sits at the helm of the uni- 
verse — Christ Jesus will take care of " his own:'^ — and 
as for thyself, if, with Job thou art determined '' to hold 
fast thy righteousness, and not to let it go, nor suff'er 
thine heart to reproach thee, so long as thou livest'" — 
if thou hopest in God, and trustest in the Lord thy Sa- 
viour — if the Righteousness of Christ is thy clothing, 
and faith in him thine impenetrable shield, '* be thine 
outward circumstances in life what they Avill, believe me, 
thou art still under the defence of thq Most High, and 



326 A SERMON BY JACOB DUCHE, A. M. 

safe under the shadow of his wings.'' The stormy wind 
may blow, the billows of adversity may rise and rage — 
but whilst thou hast fast hold of the Rock of Ages, thou 
canst no more be moved by their blackest, rudest efforts, 
than are the strong foundations of some stately edifice 
by the light breezes of a summer sky! 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

ON THE 

CHRISTIAN'S VICTORY OVER DEATH AND 
THE GRAVE. 

PREACHED IJf TRINITY CHURCH, BOSTON, ON THE DECEASE 
OF lADY EXIZABETH TEMPLE: 

JSV JOHJSr SYLVESTER JOHJST GJIRDI^ER, J. M. 

Rector of Trinity Church. 

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The 
sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But 
thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our 
Lord Jesus Christ. — 1 Cor. xv. 55y 56, 57. 

SucH^ my brethren^ is the ^dctory which Death, the 
tyrant of mortality, boasts over the eai-thly lords of the 
creation. Nor does his triumph cease with the extinction 
of his victim. The tolhng bell, the sad procession, the 
tears and lamentations of the afflicted sui'vivors, give poig- 
nancy to the sting of death, and crown with additional 
trophies the victory of the grave. The heart Aveeps blood 
at the final separation from those, who were dear to us, 
and the wounds inflicted by the grim tyrant are sometimes 
incurable. Here we see the deserted orphan, deprived of 
her sole support, bereaved of lier, who had watched, with 
parental solicitude, over her cradled infancy, instiTicted 
her inexperienced youth, and trained her up in the path 
of piety and vu^ue. What consolation now remains to 
her, save innocence and heaven? At one moment, the wife 
and mother is torn from the embraces of her distracted 
husband, and weeping children. At another, the ftither of 
a numerous family, whose prosperity depended on liis hfe, 
is suddenly summoned to his fate, and obliged to leave be- 



328 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

hind him the objects of his fondest affection to the casual 
charity of stiangers. Here the afflicted father attends his 
only son to the grave. There the sorrowing mother follows 
with faultering footstep the bier of the daughter whom 
she had idolized; of her, perhaps, who had been the 
pride and joy of her life, the delight of every circle, 
the ornament of every assembly, dear to her eyes and 
tender to her heart. Dissolved in wo, the melancholy 
mourner sickens at the sun, and wastes her days of so- 
litude and confinement, in tender recollections and una- 
vailing regrets. 

Thus dreadful is the sting of death, thus formidable 
the victory of the gi*ave. 

But is the triumph of death final? Is the \ictory of 
the grave eternal? No, my brethren. Jesus Christ has 
brought life and immortality to light through the Gos- 
pel. By this great event, death is swallowed up in vic- 
tory, and the expiring Christian may now exclaim with 
exultation, " O death, where is thy sting? O gi'ave, where 
is thy victory? Thanks be to God, wliich giveth us the 
victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.^^ 

Without this blessed revelation, what w^ould be the 
situation of man? What was it, before the Sun of Righ- 
teousness arose wdth healing in his A\ings? The Avisest of 
the heathens were animated with hopes of a future state^ 
but those hopes were clouded by doubts and uncertainty. 
They gazed with anxious eye on the boundless ocean of 
futurity that lay before them. They stiove to discover the 
shore on the other side. But they strove in vain. Clouds 
and darkness skirted the horizon, and veiled the immor- 
tal coast from their view. 

The anxiety felt on this subject, before the revelation 
of the Gospel, is well expressed in the book of Job: " If 
a man die,'^ says he, " shall he hve again? There is hope 
of a tree, if it be cut dovra, that it will sprout again, and 
that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the 
it)ot thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof 
die in the ground, yet, through the scent of water, it will 
bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. But man dieth^ 
and is ait oflT. Man giveth up the ghost, and where is he? 



BY JOHN SYLVESTER JOHN GARDINER, A. M. 329 

As the waters fail from the sea, — as the flood decayeth, 
and drieth up, — so man lieth down, and riseth not. Till 
the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be 
raised out of their sleep.'^ 

But this gloomy prospect the sun of righteousness dis- 
pels. The star from Jacob shines, and the shadows of 
death vanish. " I am the resmTection and the life, saith 
tlie Lord, he that believeth in me, though he were dead, 
yet shall he live. Whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, 
shall never die." 

Wide as the dominion of death is, it is but temporary. 
The dominion of life is more wide, and it is eternal. 
The dominion of death extends but to what is tiansitory 
and mortal; the dominion of life to the past, the present, 
and the futme. Nothing ultimately perishes, but, after 
apparent dissolution, revives, and flomishes mth increas- 
ed vigour. The seed which you plant, decays and dies, 
and yet from this death a new life arises. It springs up, 
flourishes, and bears fruit an hundred fold. The sun shines 
with mild radiance in the morniug, blazes out in fiill ma- 
jesty at noon, remits his brilliance and fervour towards 
evening, and sinks into his wati-y gi-ave. But does he re- 
vive no more? Does he leave the world involved in dark- 
ness and honor for ever? No, " to-moiTow he repairs the 
golden flood, and warms the nations with redoubled ray." 
The plants and flowers, that wither at the touch of win- 
ter, revive in the spring, and once more expand their va- 
riegated beauties in that genial season. 

Let then the tyrant Death exert his destructive power. 
That power is limited and short-lived. It can only turn 
to dust, that which was originally dust. It cannot affect 
the immortal spirit, it cannot extinguish the etherial 
spark, that animates the clay of man. " The dust only 
shall return to the earth, as it was, but the spirit shall 
return to God, who gave it." O death, where is then 
thy sting? O grave, where is then thy victory? Thy tri- 
umph, O death, is futile! Thy victory, O grave, falla- 
cious! Ye liave indeed destroyed the earthly tenement, 
but the immortal inhabitant has mounted to his native 
heaven. He has ascended to '* the bosom of his Father 

42 



330 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

and his God/' disappointed thy malice, and there will 
enjoy perpetual rest and felicity. 

However irresistible, ray brethren, the power of death 
may be to mortal man, the power of life is still superior. 
It disarms death of its sting, and despoils the grave of 
its victory. It turns dishonour into glory, defeat into 
triumph, clothes corruption with incorruption, and mor- 
tality with immortality. With God every thing is pos- 
sible. Though the dust of our buried bodies should be 
blown to distant regions, incorporate with other sub- 
stances, or sink to the bottom of the sea, yet can the 
eye of Omniscience discover, and the hand of Omnipo- 
tence separate and recollect it, reinstate the dismem- 
bered and dishonoured body into its former situation, 
and render it glorified and imperishable. He can^ my 
brethren, and he declares that he irill. To the blessed 
Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, has he given 
this power; at whose second coming, in glorious majesty 
to judge the world, the earth and sea shall give up their 
dead, and the corruptible bodies of those, that died in 
the Cluistian Faith, shall be changed, and made like to 
his own most glorious body, according to the mighty 
power, whereby he is able to subdue all things to him- 
self. His powerful voice shall break the slumber of the 
grave, and reanimate the dead. ^^O death, where is thy 
sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death 
is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be 
to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord 
Jesus Christ.'^ 

Yes, my brethien, though the power of death is for- 
midable, what is it when compared with the power of 
life? What though the body repose whole ages in the 
cold and silent tomb, vdiat are those ages, when con- 
trasted with eternity? What is the dark night of the 
grave, when compared with the brilliant morning of the 
resurrection, when, awakened from the long sleep of 
death, we shall rise refreshed, and rejoice to run our 
new and immortal career. Death destroys. Life restores. 
Death exults in darkness and horror and misery. Life 
in light and joy and happiness. 



BY JOHN SYLVESTER JOHN GARDINER, A. M. 331 

In the blessed regions of immortal felicity you will 
enjoy pleasures, which the grossness of mortal sense 
cannot enable you to conceive. You will be reunited with 
those you loved, never to separate again; and, as your 
happiness will be perfect, so will it be endless. What 
then, my brethren, have we to fear? Can the Christian, 
with these blessed assurances, tremble at the approach 
of death? No. Let the infidel and the scoffer shudder at 
the thoughts of that annihilation, into the belief of which 
they have foolishly reasoned themselves. Let them leave 
all that is dear in this world, with the gloomy prospect 
of eternal separation. Christians, you have better hopes. 
You can say to that great spoiler, O death, where is thy 
sting? O gi'ave, where is thy victory? Thy sting, O death, 
can but destroy the body. Thy victory, O grave, is but 
temporary. In spite of thy power, we shall once more 
enjoy the society of our friends and relations, free from 
every care and apprehension. " Thanks be to God, who 
giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.'^ 

Such, my brethren, is the contrast between death and 
life, the grave and the resurrection. May it prove a source 
of consolation to all of you, and more particularly to 
those, who lament the death of a dear and respected re- 
lation. Let them reflect that " blessed are the dead who 
die in the Lord; for they rest from their labours.^' Let 
them " not sorrow as those who have no hope,^' but ra- 
ther make that improvement of the distressing event, 
which religion and common sense dictate, and so regu- 
late their lives, that they may " die the death of the 
righteous." 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

JBF JISHBEL GJREEJSr, D. D. 

SenlctE Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Congregation in Philadelphia- 

0CCAS10NE.D BY THE. 

DEATH OF THE REV. JAMES SPROAT, D. D. 

In the various allotments which take place in regard 
to dying comforts^ infinite wisdom may have some pur- 
poses to answer which at present we cannot discern. We 
know, however, that in heaven they all are happy, and 
that it is but the difference of a few moments, more or 
less, that distmguishes any. We also know, that if some 
have trials which others escape, these trials are opportu- 
nities and calls for the exercise of graces which have a 
speedy reward. We are assured, that '^ these light af- 
flictions which are but for a moment, work out for us a 
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory/' — Is 
this an unquestionable truth? Is it a declaration of ^Hhe 
God who cannot lie,^^ that all the sufferings of his saints 
shall augment their eternal reward? Here then is the full 
explanation of every difficulty — ^Moments of pain, com- 
pensated by ^^ a far more exceeding and eternal weight 
of glory'' are a treasure put to the shortest and richest 
interest. Yes, and could our departed pastor speak to 
us from the mansions of eternal peace, he would say, 
^^ I bless God supremely, for every pain he caused me 
to endure. His grace sanctified it, and it is now a rich 
jewel in the eternal crown which he hath placed on ray 
head. I bless him that he called me to so sore a conflict 
^t the close of life, for he gave me the more abundant 
and divine support. I died! But he made me a dyinj^ 
conqueror, and my songs of triumph will be sweeter to 
all eternity. 



334 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

Let US now take a wider and more distinct survey of 
the bright prospect to which our attention has just been 
pointed, by considering, 

III. That the death of the saints is precious in the 
sight of the Lord with reference to all its effects or con- 
sequences. 

To this the inspired penman of tlie iext^ had, no 
doubt, a principal view in the words before us. Pre- 
cious, indeed, will the God of faithfulness render the 
fruits of death to all his people. " As it is written, eye 
hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into 
the heart of man, the things which he hath prepared 
for them that love him.^^ It will take an eternity, my 
brethren, fully to learn what are the riches of the inhe- 
ritance of the saints. A part of it, however, is made 
known in the gospel of Christ. Here it is revealed, 
that one of the precious consequences of their death, is 
an immediate cessation of all sorrow. ^^ God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no 
more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall 
there be any more pain, for the former things are pass- 
ed away." Oh how happy a transition have the depart- 
ed spirits of our pious friends experienced, who have 
gone to heaven during this calamity.* Their spirits 
here were oppressed with grief, and weighed down 
with sorrow at beholding the scenes of gloomy distress 
that were passing around them. In the midst of all they 
fall asleep in the Lord; they awake in his blissful pre- 
sence; their souls are all serenity, peace, and joy; their 
grief appears only like a melancholy dream, which 
serves to heighten tlie substantial happiness, of which 
they feel conscious that they are eternally possessed. 

To be entirely free from the remainder of sin, is an- 
other of the happy consequences of death to the saints. 
This is^ indeed, implied in their being free from sorrow. 
Never can a real christian cease to momn till he ceases 
to offend. The most heart-felt grief that he ev^r expe- 
diences, arises from his offences against that Saviour to 

* The Yellow Fever, in 1793. 



BY ASHBEL GREEN, D. D. S35 

whom lie feels himself so deeply indebted, and from that 
lamentable imperfection which is mingled with his very 
best performances. Bat death is his happy deliv erer from 
this greatest of all enemies and evils. When it destroys 
the body it destroys all sin and imperfection. The soul 
rises pare and spotless to the God and the mansions of 
immacalate holiness. Here it is admitted to the imme- 
diate vision of God and of the Lamb. The heaven-en- 
tered spirit experiences an access to, and a commanion 
with the Father of spirits, which language cannot de- 
scribe or thought conceive. — Think, oh Cliiistian! of thy 
happiest hour. Think of an hoar Avhen thy soul has made 
its nearest and most delightfal approaches to thy God; 
when the light of his countenance was most lifted upon 
thee, when the veil of sense was most removed, when 
unbelief was most extinguished, when spiritual things 
appeared to be the most substantial realities, when God 
in all Ms attribates appeared an immensity of inconceiv- 
able excellence, when his government and dispensations 
appeared the wisest and best administration, when his 
will appeared to be all the choice and desire thou wouldst 
have, when his glory appeared the best object and most 
worthy of being supreme, when the plan of redemption 
in all its parts beamed upon thy mind as a system of 
divine wisdom, grace, and beauty — ineffable, when thy 
blessed Saviour in all his work and character was seen 
unspeakably amiable and infinitely adorable, when thy 
heart expanded with glowing love to him and benevo- 
lence to men whom he came to save, — Avhen thy sonl, 
in still and sweet and solemn vision of these things, told 
thee it was "good to be here,'' and that moments of such 
enjoyment were not to be exchanged for ages of the high- 
est sensitive pleasnre; — this is heaven upon earth. — 
Imagine all these exercises to be purified and sublimed; 
the capacities of tlie soul enlarged so as to take in a 
greater measure of them, and strengthened so as to en- 
dure a perpetual continuance of them; and this, it may 
be, is as just a view of the heaven to come as our minds 
can take at present. To see God and the Saviour " face 
to face," to be '* filled with his fullness,'" and " bear his 



336 EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 

likeness/^ to go '^ no more out/' and not to fear any ter- 
mination of the beatific joys, or separation from them, 
seem to constitute the scripture representation of a glo- 
rified state. 

As we have every reason to believe that all the pow- 
ers of the soul will, in a better world, not only be pre- 
served but invigorated, it is pleasing to think how the 
memory will be employed in the mansions above. It 
will, no doubt, often carry back the glorified saint 
through all the past scenes of this militant state. He 
will review, and surely with wonder, his engagements 
with the world, and the needless and foolish anxieties 
which agitated his mind in regard to the things of time. 
He will review, with pity, his unreasonable fears and 
groundless apprehensions. He will recollect with aston- 
ishment and, I had almost said with grief, the preva- 
lence of his unbelief, his want of trust and confidence 
in God, and the deficiency of his zeal and animation 
in the service of his Master. He will see that it was all 
of divine and sovereign grace that he was ever arrested 
in his career of sin, that his heart was renewed and 
sanctified, and that he was constantly supported through 
the whole of the spiritual life. He will see the kind de- 
signs of a faithful God in all those providences which, 
while he was here, appeared hard and dark and inex- 
plicable. He Avill see that they all were necessary, and 
that, in very deed, all things have worked together for 
his good. And while he surveys these things, he will 
recollect that they are now the things that are past — 
for ever past — but that the sweet fruits of them remain, 
and shall eternally endure. Such contemplations will 
animate the glorified spirit to raise high the notes of 
praise to the fulness of redeeming love, and to the abun- 
dance of that unmerited grace, which make so weak and 
w^orthless a creature, " di conqueror, and more than a 
conqueror" of all the powerful and insidious enemies 
that were leagued against him. 

" They that have turned many to righteousness shall 
shine as the stars for ever and ever.'' The creation of 
Ood appears to be a system of subordination. There 



BY ASHBEL GREEN, D. D. 337 

are diiferent orders of angels^ and there will be different 
orders of saints. But this, where the will of the Crea- 
tor is the spring and fountain of happiness, will give 
delight to all and not diminish it in any. Those who 
have laboured, and loved, and suffered much in the 
cause of God will be greatly distinguished. They will 
appear as stars of the first magnitude in the heaven of 
unfading glory. Among these our departed friend, it is 
reasonable to conclude, will possess a conspicuous place. 
For more than fifty years he had been a laborious and 
faithful servant of Jesus Christ; and those who knew 
him best, will be the readiest to testify the piety and 
purity of life, and the conscientious discharge of his 
ministerial duties. 



43 



EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

ON THE 

HAPPINESS OF GOOD MEN IN A FUTURE STATE, 

BY SJiMUEL STAA'*HOPE SMITH, D. D. 

President of the Colleg-e of New Jersey. 

That the}'- may rest from their labours, and their works do 
follow them. — Rev. xiv. 13. 

The first subject of consideration concerning the 
future happiness of good men, suggested in the text, is 
Rest. 

II. The second is Enjoyment — '^ their works do fol- 
low them.*' 

This figurative language evidently points to that high 
and posiiive state of felicity which the saints shall enjoy 
in heaven, which is the consequence and reward of their 
works. It conveys to us also, in the mode of expression, 
two other truths of the highest importance: — the first, 
that the habits of a holy life are necessary to qualify 
men for the possession of heaven; because, without 
them, they neither could desire it as their abode, nor 
could they enjoy the pure and spiritual pleasures that 
constitute to the pious, the happiness of the place: — The 
second, that their rewards there shall be proportioned 
to the advances they have made in the divine life; and 
to the labours they have endured, the dangers tliey have 
encountered, and the services they have performed for 
the benefit, and above all, for the salvation of mankind, 
which is the service of Jesus Christ, their master and 
their Lord. On this subject the apostle Paul hath taught 
us, ^^ he that soweth sparingly shall reap sparingly, and 
he that soweth bountifully shall also reap bountifully.'^* 

* C Cor. ix. 6. 



S40 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of 
the moon, and another glory of the stars, and one star 
differeth from another in glory; so also shall it be in the 
resurrection of tJie dead/^* The most pious, faithful, 
and successful servants of Jesus Christ shall shine with 
the highest lustre, and enjoy the most consummate hap- 
piness in his eternal kingdom. What an animating mo- 
tive was this to the fortitude of the primitive martyrs! 
What an illustrious, wJiat a divine encouragement is it 
to the duty of every believer in Christ! If he does not 
reap his reward in this world, he shall receive one pro- 
portionably more rich and glorious in the world to come; 
where " the wise shall shine as the brightness of the 
firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as 
i\\Q stars for ever and ever.'^f Let us, my brethren, re- 
member, however, the great and fundamental doctrine, 
laid by the apostles as the foundation of our hopes, that 
"it is not by icorks of lighteoiisness whicli we have 
done, but by grace we are saved.^' Those works can- 
not be presented at the throne of divine justice, as form- 
ing any absolute claim to the rewards of heaven; but 
they become, by the gracious promise of God, the title 
of a believer to a recompense that infinitely transcends 
any claim that can be grounded on the merit of human 
obedience. They follow him, not as a meritorious mea- 
sure; but as measuring, so to speak, the infinite propor- 
tions of divine grace and of heavenly glory. 

The gradations of rank, splendour, and felicity in the 
kingdom of Heaven, are but faintly and obscurely marked 
to us in Holy Scripture. It is more easy to impart to 
minds like ours some general apprehensions of the glo- 
ry and perfection of the state of Heaven, than nicely to 
trace its degrees. A scale of this kind requires a know- 
ledge of the subject more accurate and just than our 
limited faculties are able to receive even from the holy 
spirit of inspiration. Such a scale was not necessary to 
the end for which this revelation was made to the divine 
St. John, which was to encourage the martyrs in their 

* 1 Cor. XV. 41, 42. f Dan. xii. 3. 



BY SAMUEL STANHOPE SMITH, D. D. 341 

mortal conflicts. Their cruel sufferings and their un- 
shaken firmness, would indeed procure for tliem a higher 
rank in the order of the heavenly state, t]ian others should 
attain, who had not been called to give the same heroic 
proofs of their fidelity to their Lord. But it is the ex- 
pected glory and felicity of that state, that sustains the 
courage of a Christian, and enables him to triumph over 
the most formidable pains of death. 

This felicity and glory is the subject chiefly pointed 
at in the text, and that to which without entering into 
any representation that must at best be fanciful, con- 
cerning the economy, and the gradations of rank that 
may take place in the kingdom of God, I shall limit 
my view in the remaining part of this discourse. — But 
how shall we describe that which eye hath not seen, 
nor ear heard, and of which it hath not entered into the 
heart of man to conceive! It would require the colours 
of heaven and a divine pencil to represent that celestial 
^' city which hath no need of the sun, neither of the 
moon to shine in it; for the glory of the Lord doth 
lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. And the 
nations of them that are saved shall walk in the light 
of it, and there shall in no wise enter into it any thing 
that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, 
or maketh a lie; but they who are written in the Lamb's 
book of life.^^* 

The improvements, and the sublime perfection of hu- 
man nature shall be correspondent to the glory of its 
habitation. But both, perhaps, are equally out of the 
reach of our conceptions at present. We must actually 
have attained, before we can fully comprehend, those 
immortal powers with which the body shall be raised 
from the grave, and re-united to the soul, purified and 
exalted by a nearer approach to God. It is raised, saith 
the apostle, in incorruption — in glory — in power. — It is 
raised a spiritual body/-\ — Mark that bold and extraor- 
dinary figure. It is allied in its essence to the immortal 
spirit — composed of the most pure and active princi- 

* Rev. xxi. 23, 24—27. j 1 Corinthians, xv. 42, 43, 44. 



342 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

pies of matter that resemble the purity and activity of 
the soul — incorruptible in its organization like the dia- 
mond— splendid in its appearance like the sun — rapid 
and powerful in its movements like the lightning, that 
bears in its course an image of the omnipotence of the 
Creator. 

The soul, purged from the dregs of sin, shall bear a 
higher resemblance of the perfection of God in whose 
image it Avas first created. Its intellect shall be bound- 
lessly enlarged — its affections shall be directed with im- 
mortal and unceasing ardor to the eternal source of love 
— and we have reason to believe that it shall enjoy the 
power of unlimited excursion into the works, and, if I 
may speak so, into the essence of the Deity. 

On a subject of which it is so far beyond the present 
powers of the human mind adequately to conceive, it 
becomes us to speak with modesty and caution. In 
judging of it, reason affords no lights to guide us — the 
fires of the imagination will only mislead us — we must 
take our ideas solely from the Scriptures of Truth. 
And when we collect together all that those sublime ora- 
cles of Avisdom have said upon this subject, and take 
from the whole, those general views which they give of 
the state and felicity of Heaven, Ave may range them 
under the heads of its glory — its immutability — and its 
eternity. 

Its glory — ^' It doth not, indeed, yet appear Avhat Ave 
shall be, but Ave knoAV that Avhen he shall appear, Ave 
shall be like him, for Ave shall see him as he is.'** — 
There the redeemed shall dAvell in the presence of God, 
Avho alone can fill the unlimited extent of their desires 
— there they live in the delightful exercise of an eternal 
love, and in the full possession of all that can render 
them supremely blessed — for, ^^ in his presence is ful- 
ness of joy, and at his right hand are pleasures for ever 
more.^'t 

There they cease not celebrating in songs of ecstasy, 
the infinite perfections of God, and the boundless riches 

* 1 John iii. 2. t Psalms xvj. 11. 



I 



BY SAMUEL STANHOPE SMITH, D. D. S43 

of redeeming love. ^- Hallelujah! Salvation, and glory, 
and honour, and power unto the Lord our God.'^* 
Worthy is the Lamb that was "slain to receive power, 
and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and 
glory, and blessing!"! There, according to the emble- 
matical language of the Revelations, they are seated on 
tlu-ones, and receive from his hands celestial diadems — 
for, saith the spirit, " they shall reign with him for ever 
and ever.'^J 

If human nature, nofcAvithstanding all its present im- 
perfections, is destined to such improvement and felicity, 
much more is it reasonable to believe that the eternal 
habitations of the pious, and the temple of the immedi- 
ate presence of God, are infinitely superior in splendour 
and glory to all that we now behold in the sublimest, 
or the most beautiful works of nature. When this veil 
of sense shall be withdrawn, what an unutterable scene 
of wonders shall be disclosed! Imagination cannot pic- 
ture them, language cannot describe them; we have no 
powers, at present, capable of admitting or sustaining 
the view. Could we suppose a mole that grovels in the 
earth, enveloped in absolute darkness, and circumscribed 
to a few inches, to be endued with the powers of vision 
and reason, and suddenly admitted to contemplate, with 
the eye of Gallileo, or tlie mind of NeA\ion, the splen- 
dors and boundless extent of the universe, its ravish- 
ments, its transports, its ecstasies, would afford but a 
faint image of the raptures of the soul opening her im- 
mortal view on the glories of that celestial world. 

But the glory of the heavenly state consists not only 
in the augmented powers of human nature, and the ex- 
ternal magnificence that adorns it, but in the holy and 
devout, and, may I not add, the benevolent and social 
pleasures that reign there. 

There "the pure in heart see God,"^^ — there they 
"know even as also they are known" || — there they love 
Avithout sin him whom it was their supreme delight to 

* Revelations xix. 1. f Revelations v. 12. 4: Revelations xxii, 5. 
$ Matthew V. 8. )J 1 Corinthians xiii. 12. 



S44 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

contemplate and to love on earth. — And if, Avith the 
divine philosopher of Greece, I may venture to speak 
so, there they mingle themselves with God. — But this 
is a subject which I dare not touch. I fear to profane 
it by tlie imperfect colouring, or the misguided fervours 
of sen^e. — Sometimes the humble and devout believer, 
in the communion of his soul with God, or in the cele- 
bration of the precious mysteries of his grace, in his 
temples here below, has enjoyed such discoveries of his 
infinite goodness and mercy as have been almost too 
powerful for the feeble frame of flesh and blood — Ah! 
Avhat then will be the manifestations of heaven! My be- 
loved brethren, an Almighty power, a celestial regene- 
ration will be necessary to enable you to sustain the un- 
utterable bliss! 

I have ventured to mention also the social and bene- 
volent pleasures of that state. And it will not, perhaps, 
be the smallest part of the felicity of pious souls to enter 
into the society, to participate the joys, and to receive 
the congratulations of those perfect spirits who have 
never fallen from their rectitude, and of the saints re- 
deemed from among men, who have gone before them to 
take possession of their promised rest. — " There is joy 
in Heaven, saith Christ, over one sinner that repenteth'^^ 
• — how much greater will be their joy, when he has 
escaped the dangers of the world, when he has no more 
cause of repentance, when he has kept the faith, when 
all his conflicts and temptations are finished, and he has 
arrived at the end of his course where nothing shall ever 
be able again to shake the security of his state, or to 
impair the plenitude of his happiness? What high en- 
joyment will it be to meet there his fellow travellers 
through the dangerous pilgrimage of life, escaped from 
its pollutions and its snares. To meet there with '^ Abra^ 
ham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets,^^ wdth all 
the holy apostles and martyrs of Christ! To meet there 
the friends who were most dear to him on earth, whose 
souls were mingled with his! To meet there his fellow 

* Luke X.V. 7. 



BY SAMUEL STANHOPE SMITH, D. D. 345 

Christians out of every denomination, on whom, perhaps, 
he had been accustomed to look with distrust and jea- 
lousy! Nay more, to meet there devout men like Corne- 
lius from every nation under Heaven; and to see the 
grace of God infinitely more extended than those narrow 
limits which probably his prejudices had prescribed to 
it! What immortal consolations must fill the breasts of 
those who ^^are come unto mount Zion, unto the city of 
the living Grod, the heavenly Jemsalem, and to an innu- 
merable company of angels, to the general assembly of 
the churcli of the first born, Avho are written in Heaven, 
and to God the judge of all, and to the Spirits of just 
men made perfect/^* 

The immutability of the happiness of Heaven is 
another character of it, that deserves our consideration. 
The power of God will place the redeemed beyond the 
influence of temptation and sin, and the perfection of the 
heavenly state will for ever exempt them from all those 
causes of frailty and change that exist upon earth. It 
knows no change except that of continual progression. 
The principal value of all our sources of enjoyment in 
this world is destroyed by their instabihty. Every ob- 
ject here is mutable, and disappoints those who expect 
permanent felicity from it, and jjievces through with many 
sorrows tliose who attempt to lean upon it. Even the 
comforts that flow from religion in the present life are 
variable and uncertain, because the sanctification of the 
believer is still partial and imperfect. But, in Heaven, 
being perfectly holy, he shall be completely and im- 
mutably happy. 

Eternity is the idea that crowns and enriches the 
whole. ^^ There shall be no more death,^^ saitli the amen, 
the faithful and true witness. The felicity of the saints, 
like the being of God, shall be interminable. — Glorious 
and consolatory truth! I would willingly assist your 
minds to frame some measures of an immortal existence, 
but how shall we measure a subject that so far surpasses 

* Hebrews xii. 22, 23. 

44 



346 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE 

our feeble conceptions? Number the stars that fill the 
sky — reckon the sands upon the sea shore — count the 
drops in the immeasurable ocean — compute the atoms 
that compose the globe — multiply them by millions of 
years, and when this amazing succession of duration 
shall have been finished, and repeated as many times as 
are equal to its own units, eternity will be but beginning 
— Beginning! It cannot be said to be begun. It is Avrong 
to apply any term which measures progression, to that 
which has no period. 

In this astonishing and boundless idea the mind is 
overwhelmed! What a glory does it shed over the in- 
heritance of the saints in light! How strongly is it cal- 
culated to awaken the desires of a believer after the rest 
that remaineth for the people of God! I may add, how 
well is it fitted to console those who mourn over their 
friends who sleep in Jesus! If, at any time, the mind is 
ready to sink under the weight of its sufferings in the 
present life, and to repine at the will of God, will it not 
become patient, and even thankful again, when it looks 
forward to that immortal blessedness to which every 
calamity that tends to crush this frail tenement of clay, 
is only hastening our passage? "For our light afflictions, 
which are but for a moment, work out for us a far more 
exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look 
not at the things which are seen, but at the things which 
are not seen; for the things which are seen are tempo- 
ral, but the things which are not seen are eternal.'^* 

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord! yea, saith 
the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and 
their worlds do follow them! What a consolatory, what 
a sublime and glorious object is here presented to the 
faith and hope of good men, and confirmed by the faith- 
ful asseverations of the spirit of truth! All the suffer- 
ings, induced by sin in the present life, there come to 
an everlasting period — all the joys that human nature 
exalted and improved with immortal powers can sus- 
tain, shall be possessed by the redeemed, and shall con- 

* 1 Cor. iv. ir, 18. 



BY SAMUEL STANHOPE SMITH, D. D. 347 

tinually increase in an endless progression. There you 
behold them in the midst of their heavenly conntiy from 
which they shall be no more exiled — there they con- 
template without a veil, in the clear^ unclouded vision 
of heaven, the adorable perfections of God — they be- 
hold him enthroned in glory ineffable, whence he dis- 
penses happiness to countless myriads of blessed spirits 
— Rivers of pleasure issue from the foot of the eternal 
throne — ^they bathe themselves in those pure and celes- 
tial streams — they are absorbed in ecstacies of a divine 
and immortal love. 

My brethren! what an animating motive to perfect 
Jioliness in the fear of God, is proposed to your faith in 
the blessed promise of life and immortality! What a 
reward for all the labours, and self-denials of virtue! 
What a consolation under all the afflictions of life! — 
The happiness of heaven is essentially connected with 
purity of heart, with sanctity of manners, and with use- 
fulness of living. And your progress in these divine 
qualities shall be the measure of your eternal felicity. 
The path of perfect virtue, indeed, is laborious, and 
often passes in its course over steep and difficult ascents. 
Our passions frequently render extremely painful the 
sacrifices which duty requires. We are obliged to com- 
bat with the world, its interests, its pleasures, its exam- 
ples, its solicitations, and, still more, to maintain a con- 
stant conflict with ourselves. But, contemplate the sub- 
lime recompence which religion confers on these labours 
and these sacrifices, and they are arduous no longer. 
What are the enticements by which vice would ensnare 
the heart, and withdraw it from virtue, compared with 
that fulness of joy that is in the presence of Grod, and 
those rivers of pleasure that flow at his right hand for 
evermore/ What are the labours or dangers of duty 
compared with its triumphant reward! Endure hardness^ 
therefore, as good soldiers of Christ Jesus^ rememhering 
that these short conflicts shall, ere long, gain for you 
crowns of victory, and encircle you with immortal 
glory. 



S48 EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE, &c. 

Finally, this hope affords a good man the best con- 
solation under affliction. All the necessary evils of hfe 
will soon be ended, and will open to him a peaceful 
entrance into the joy of his Lord. If disease and pain 
are hastening his return to the dust from ichich he was 
taken, why should he repine, since they are at the same 
time bringing him to those living fountains of immor- 
tal health, where God shall wipe away all tears from his 
eyes? If the dearest ties of friendship, or of love are 
broken asunder, and his heart is torn by cruel bereave- 
ments, religion enables him to find a sweet repose in 
God his best friend, and conducts his hopes to a speedy 
and delightful re- union, in the regions of the blessed, 
with those pure and virtuous souls who were here most 
dear to his heart. In like manner, if poverty overwhelm 
him, or his fairest possessions have been blasted by the 
stroke of divine providence, are they not infinitely more 
than compensated in that heavenly inheritance to which, 
by divine grace, he is born? — And, when death comes 
to dissolve the temporary and decaying tabernacle in 
which he had sojourned in this barren wilderness, can 
lie be dismayed, or yield to impious fears, when he sees 
beyond its flood the land of promised rest, in which there 
is prepared for him a building of God, an house not made 
with hands, eternal in the heavens/ 

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord — yea, saith 
the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and 
their works do follow them! 



CONSOLATORY REFLECTIONS ON 
DEATH, 

IN A LETTER TO A FRIEND, 

BF CHJIILES II. WIUHTO.Y, D. I). 

Rector of St. Mary's Church, Burlington, New Jersey. 

When a Christian retires occasionally from the bus- 
tle and business of life, to indulge in solemn meditation, 
either on his own deatli or that of his departed friends, 
he will soon find the language of reason whispering to 
his heart, some sentiments like the following: 

" The soul has no other centre than eternity. Every 
thing propels her towards this noble end: — the tedium 
of life and frequent disgusts which she experiences, to- 
gether with her desires, her hopes, and designs, are all 
sources of that restless impatience, which needs convince 
her, that repose is to be found only in Grod. 

Now, what is the voice of reason in the midst of all 
this irksomeness and distress? Here below, it says, you 
are only exiled beings, whose eyes should be always 
turned towards your heavenly country. The evils and 
passions of which you complain, are so many graces 
dispensed by Heaven, to disgust you with the world, 
ami wean you from mortality. This universe is nothing 
more than a theatre, exhibiting the momentary appear- 
ance and disappearance of successive generations; and 
the curtain will then only drop, Avhen you shall be ad- 
mitted into the mansions of glory and rest. Whatever 
you may say, or do, that bears no reference to this giand 
catastrophe, will prove as frail and transient as the spi- 
der's web. Your wealth, your honours, your plans and 
pleasures forming no part of yourselves, can never con- 
tent your hearts, nor banish from them wants and de- 
sires which will never be gratified. 



350 CONSOLATORY REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 

Such is the language of reason, powerfully calcu- 
lated to draw the heart from the follies of life; but alas! 
like the last syllable of the echo, it seldom leaves any 
traces upon the mind. By indulging our desires, we make 
ourselves wretched, because we desire that only which 
keeps death at a distance. We do not consider, that by 
closing our eyes on time, it opens to them the gates of 
eternity, and that, in proportion to the horrors of the 
tomb, will be the splendours and majesty of the realms 
of rest. The never-ceasing influence of material percep- 
tions, is the primary cause of that deplorable lethargy 
in which we languish out our lives. Man, all carnal as 
he is, and too frequently wishes to remain, cannot be- 
hold, without horror, the bereavement of his wealth, his 
friends, and his honours. He cannot acquiesce in the idea, 
that his soul exists for God only, and that, possessing 
him, it becomes rich and powerful beyond calculation. 
Death, of course, to him, must be the most hideous spec- 
tre, and the worst of evils. If his dread of it arose from 
the alarms of conscience, it might, in that case, be ra- 
tional and salutary; but it is nothing more than his regret 
at quitting a world which he idolizes. 

How contrary are such sentiments to those which rea- 
son inspires! These place us immediately before the face 
of God; they afford us a glimpse of his eternal bright- 
ness, which penetiates and beatifies the souls of his ser- 
vants. CMstian philosophers have ever groaned under 
the burthen of their flesh, because they were the disciples 
of unsophisticated reason; while mere pretenders to vds- 
dom, limit their whole essence to the operations of mat- 
ter, in itself inert and corruptible. They boast of travers- 
ing the regions of space, of sending their excursive fancy 
to explore the reign of nature through oceans and firma- 
ments, while, at the same time, some contemptible gratifi- 
cation, connected with matter, rivets them to the eai-th. 

Truly wondeifiil and sublime is the soul, wliich rather 
longs after, than shudders at death. She can cast a look 
of pity on the thrones of the eaiiih, and in holy raptures, 
untinctured either with enthusiasm or fanaticism, can 
look up to God, as capable exclusively to fix and satisfy 



BY CHARLES H. WHARTON, D. D. S5t 

her desires. — She can pass by the melting sounds of the 
most exquisite harmony, the most splendid decorations 
of outward objects, which the senses are accustomed to 
idolize; and concentrating within herself her perceptions 
and knowledge, can fix her contemplation and delight on 
imperishable excellence and beauty. To these are direct- 
ed her most ardent longings, and a holy impatience at 
their absence springs up within her. 

How must reason sigh, that sentiments wliich ought 
to prevail among all men, should be regarded by the 
greater number as the visions of fancy? And reason, ac- 
cordingly, acts unshackled among those only, who can 
appreciate death rather as exalting the soul, than degrad- 
ing the body. It is to enlist our faculties in the service of 
falsehood and vanity, when we cherish a dread of the 
moment, which is to unite us to God. Can a return to a 
father, a benefactor and friend; can the occupation of a 
kingdom be a subject of affliction? And yet, we lament 
our departed friends as the victims of some misfortune; 
and a long life for ourselves and others, as the summit 
of human felicity, is the first wish of our hearts. But 
what, in fact, is this life? Are the smiles on its surface 
accompanied with no lurking disquietudes beneath them; 
or can they counterbalance all the evils of mortality? 
There is not a day, perhaps not an hour, in which our 
imagination is not busy in disturbing our repose; in 
which we do not experience some actual pain, or cor- 
roding anxiety? If our bosoms be not lacerated with 
sorrow^, yet they are frequently distracted by our wants 
and privations. When unmolested with disappointments, 
we are oppressed by business; the burthens of opulence 
supersede the desperation of poverty; the gloom of soli- 
tude becomes as irksome as the importunities of the 
w^orld; and though no slaves to our passions, we often 
sink under the influence of desolating scruples and fears. 
In a word, the constant uneasiness arising from our re- 
latives, our friends, and ourselves compel us, as it were, 
to look on death with a friendly eye, as the termination 
of our sufferings, and to sigh after a life more luminous 
and tranquil. 



352 CONSOLATORY REFLECTIONS ON DEATH 



As long as we continue to live, two opposite princi- 
ples are striving for the mastery within us: — Reason re- 
monstrates on the one hand, but passions speak still 
louder on the other, till all the faculties of tlie mind be- 
come enveloped in a chaos, which death alone can dis- 
sipate, by restoring us again to ourselves and to God. 
Then it is that the wall of separation is thrown down, 
which intercepted the view of the Deity; then we return 
to our native country, the abode of justice and of peace. 
Then all our desires unite in the centre of unchangea- 
ble bliss, and we become partakers of a nature immuta- 
ble, immense, and almost divine. Wrapt in these lofty 
ideas of his destiny, man feels himself lifted above this 
mortal scene — All the powers of his soul become shaken 
and sublimated — He conceives himself lightened from 
the load of the body, the earth vanishes away, and the 
sun disappears: eternal light seems to surround him; and 
the carnal being, lately creeping in the dust, becomes 
an intelligence pure and sublime. Already he beholds 
God, face to face, whom the sacred oracles had taught 
liim to acknowledge, whom faith had taught him to 
adore. 

But it is not often tliat mortals regard, or welcome 
death under this cheering aspect. Many have been 
known to wish for it merely as a termination of their 
sufferings: and hence it is, that on the death of those 
around us, our ears are often shocked with such ex- 
pressions as these: '' It is a happy deliverance, and we 
should comfort ourselves that his sufferings are at an 
end.'' Every idea is suppressed Avhich might lead the 
bystanders to consider the deceased as an immortal be- 
ing. What! have we then stifled the voice of our souls, 
whicli is continually reminding us of our immortality? 
Have we discarded the discoveries of revelation, assur- 
ing us that death is often the consummation of misery? 
O let us be convinced, that then only we are really 
alive, when relieved from the incumbrance of the body. 

Is it, then, a matter of surprise, that men, that Chris- 
tians should cease to deplore, nay, should even welcome 
an event, which alone can put a period to their misery, 



BY CHARLES H. WHARTON, D. D. 353 

which separates them from a world that wears them out 
and corrupts them^ and which confers upon them supreme 
felicity? Ought we not^ on the contiary, rather to wonder 
at seeing them entirely occupied with this fleeting life, 
enslaved by the smiles, or the goods of fortune, and un- 
mindful of the embarrassments and remorse which fol- 
low them, regard them as the leading objects of human 
existence, and contrary to daily experience, and, by an 
inconceivable miscalculation, conceive the treasures of a 
coffer to be those of the heart. But suffer time to do its 
work, and then, if any doubt still remains, it will as- 
suredly convince us, that our wisest projects, in appear- 
ance, were real follies; and that he only is a wise man, 
w ho attaches himself to that, which can never decay. 
To welcome death, is to render it propitious; for before 
we welcome a friend, we prepare to receive him. The 
irreligious alone w^ould wish never to die, or they who 
are stupid enough to believe in anniliilation. — Against 
all such sound reason recoils, at least, that reason, w liich 
dictates these lines. 

I am well aware, that a tomb is to human nature an 
object of dismay, and appears to be the term of its me- 
lancholy existence; but reason, or in other words, the 
intimate conviction of our hearts, speaks a different lan- 
guage. It tells us, that the thinking principle is impe- 
rishable in its nature; that our desires are too vast for 
the limits of human life; and that, in forming a moral 
creature, God had not completed his work without be- 
stowing on it existence commensurate with its ideas of 
immortality. 

It is in death that reason looks for the moment, when 
it will no longer contend with tlie irregularity of the 
passions, or be obscured by their mists. It is, from not 
attending to the lessons of death, that we wish to pro- 
long our own exile, or that of our friends. We confound 
these lessons with our earthly affections. But what a 
flood of light will break in upon us, to what an eminence 
shall we be elevated, w hen disengaged from the portion 
of earth which weighs us down, we shall feel all the 

45 



554 CONSOLATORY REFLECTIONS ON DEATH, 

vivifying influences of the divinity rusbing upon our 
souls! '!liis earth is an inconvenient habitation for the 
noblest faculties of our nature. Reason sees little here, 
but transactions which degrade her; — hears little but 
language that contradicts her; and^ in the most popular 
writings, reads much that insults her: but, introduced 
into Heaven, through the gates of death, she becomes 
fixed in her own immutable centre, and all her faculties 
expand in proportion to their contraction here below. — 
Wherefore, let the rational momners comfort themselves, 
and one another, in these words. '^ 

On occasions of this nature. Religion must chasten, 
without suppressing the feelings of humanity. If you 
remember how immoderately Cicero, the best and wisest 
among the heathens, mourned for his daughter TuUia, 
you will readily perceive the superior advantages of 
Christianity under these afflicting dispensations. That 
great man could derive no support from the assurances 
of Revelation, which are readily recurred to by the 
Christian. I recollect a sentiment in the book of wis- 
dom, very applicable to your present distressing situa- 
tion;* where Solomon, speaking of the early death of 
the righteous, says, " He being made perfect in a short 
time, fulfilled a long tune. For his soul pleased the 
Lord, therefore hasted he to take him away.'' Wisdom 
of Solomon, iv. 13, 14. To carry Avitli her into the pre- 
sence of her Creator that white robe of innocency, which 
she put on at her baptism, and to leave with her rela- 
tives the sweet recollection of every endearing quality, 
and piety unfeigned, are circumstances which, in a great 
measure, will tend to counterbalance the regrets for her 
premature passage through this painful world. She 
leaves one parent, it is true, who in a few years must 
follow her, but goes to another, with whom she vnli live 
for ever. 

From reflections, such as these, nature, I trust, will 
soon cease to repine at your loss, and to offer any dis- 
turbance to the cheering conviction, that you have lodged 

* Occasioned bj the death of a beloved daughter, aged 19. 



BV CHARLES H. WHARTON, D. D. 355 

in the bosom of her Redeemer, an additional supplicant^ 
for his mercies upon her family. 

^^In the journey of life/' says the pious bishop Horne^ 
^^as in other journeys, it is a pleasing reflection, that we 
have friends thinking t)f us at home, who will receive 
us with joy, when our journey is at an end.'' 

* Her mother died three years before. 



A LETTER 

FROM THE REV. JOR.X LJl.YG HORACE, D. D. 

Rector of Blagclon, Somersetshire. 

TO MRS. , 

ON THE DEATH OF HER DAUGHTER. 

If I have not been so eai'ly as the rest of your friends, 
in condoling with you upon your late affecting loss^ it 
was because I was unwilling to interrupt you in the first 
stages of your grief. I had moreover sorrows of my own 
to sooth — I had tears of my own to dry up^ which^ had 
they mingled with yours^ would have increased our com- 
mon distress. This^ however^ was not the principal rea- 
son why I have delayed to visit you, or to write to you. 
I would have waited upon you while my heart and my 
eyes were yet full of your misfortune, had I not been 
sensible that every argument I could have used on the 
behalf of content or comfort, would then have been in- 
effectual; and also that, by being repeated, they would 
have had the less weight now. Under the first attacks 
of extreme sorrow nature is to be left to herself. At such 
a time the consolations of friendship, by their infectious 
tenderness relax the tone of the heart, and increase the 
sensibility of the sufferer; yet there is a season in afflic- 
tion when the consolations of friendship may be useful: 
As the same medicine, which taken in the height of a 
fever, would infallibly increase it, will, if administered 
at a proper interval, prevent its return. It is the busi- 
ness of friendship and philosophy rather to prevent sor- 
row from growing into habit, than to defend the heart 
from its first influences. The one is a natural, the other 
a moral evil, and it is in the latter only that the precepts 
of the moralist can be of use. — Thus much^ madam, to 



358 A LETTER BY JOHN LANGHORNE, D. D. 

apologize for my past conduct^ and to give greater force 
to what I have now to say. 

That you may be willing to give up the company of 
Sorrowy consider the nature and qualities of your com- 
panion. Her constant business is to draw gloomy and 
dejecting images of life; to anticipate the hour of mise- 
ry^ and to prolong it wlien it is arrived. Peace of mind 
and contentment fly from her haunts^ and the amiable 
graces of cheerfulness die beneath her influence. Sorrow 
is an enemy to virtue^ while it destroys that cheerful 
habit of mind that cherishes and supports it. It is an 
enemy to piety; for, with what language shall we ad- 
dress that Being, whose providence our complaints either 
accuse or deny? It is an enemy to health, which depends 
greatly on the freedom and vigour of the animal spirits; 
and of happiness it is the reverse. Such, madam, is the 
genuine disposition, and such are the qualities of Sorrow: 
And will you admit such an enemy to your bosom? Her 
sacrifices are the aclung heart and the sleepless eye, the 
deep -searching groan, and the silent tear. — Will you be- 
come a votary to such a fiend? A fiend that would rob 
your Creator of his honour, the world of your virtue, 
and yourself of your happiness. Yet farther, it will rob 
your friends of your affection — here think me self-inte- 
rested if you please; but what I advance is tiue. Soi'- 
row will deprive your friends of your affection. The 
heart that has been long a prey to misery gradually 
loses its sensibility — gloomy and unsocial habits suc- 
ceed, and the love of human kind is at last absorbed in 
the stagnation of melancholy. A sad situation this! but 
too often the effect of sorrow unseasonably continued 
and indulged. 

But shall we, madam, inquire into the cause of this 
sorrow, which, possibly, you may say with Shakspeal'e, 
is too great to be jjotched with jproverhs? Is it on the 
account of her whom you lament, or on your own? 
" No,^^ you answer; " it is on behalf of my dear child. 
Shall I not bewail the cruelty of her destiny, cut off 
from the fairest hopes in the very bloom and vigour of 
life? Alas! is this the end of a virtuous and elegant edu- 



A LETTER BY JOHN LANGHORNE, D. D. 359 

cation? My poor Harriet! wliaf does it now avail that 
you neglected the trifling amusements and vain pur- 
suits of your sex, to acquire a taste for the finer enjoy- 
ments of the mind? Surely long happiness was due to 
you who had taken such pains to deserve it! Dear crea- 
ture! had she lived to adorn the married state, her ami- 
able sincerity, her natural politeness, and, above all, the 
virtuous sensibility of her heart would have completed 
her own happiness by insuring that of her husband." — 
All this, madam, you might say, and the mother^s af- 
fection exaggerate no circumstance. But this must have 
been said upon a supposition that life, while it conti- 
nues, cannot but be happy; or at least that virtue and 
excellence must infalMbly produce happiness. These, 
however, are conclusions which none of the best ob- 
servers of human life have admitted. Happiness may 
be destroyed by many circumstances vvhich it is not in 
the power of virtue to prevent. It is far from being im- 
possible, madam, that the lady, whose death you so pas- 
sionately lament, may by that death be exempted from 
many evils. How many has the pale tyrant unmerci- 
fully spared! What a lasting affliction must it have been 
to you, had the noble mind of your Harriet been doom- 
ed to suffer imprisonment in a feeble and unhealthy 
body! Had the fair rose been early blasted, and the 
root cruelly suffered to live, and pine away gradually 
through a course of delightless years! Moreover, as 
beauty is no charm against the natural evils of life, so 
neither is virtue always a defence against its moral evils. 
— Your amiable Harriet, with all her accomplishments, 
might have been unfortunately united to splendid in- 
sensibility, or wealthy avarice! Her virtues might have 
become the object of profligate ridicule, or misinter- 
preting ill- nature; and her person might have adminis- 
tered chagrin to negligence, or fuel to jealousy. In such 
circumstances I suppose the sensibility of her heart 
would have been far from defending it from misery; 
and the consciousness of her o^vn integrity would have 
afforded her little relief: Avlien the only person whose 
esteem it should principally have procured her, looked 



360 A LETTER BY JOHN LANGHORNE, D. D. 

upon her with coldness or aversion. You know, madam, 
that these are no uncommon evils; and though Harriet 
was every way worthy of a better fate, she might never- 
theless have had her lot among the multitudes that suf- 
fer and comi)lain. Neither would the cruelty or the 
negligence of a husband have been the only evils that 
would have endangered her peace: It would have been 
equally exposed to ruin by the follies and vices of a 
child; or, what is the case of few parents, had she met 
with no ingratitude and beheld no wretchedness in her 
offspring, her gentle heart might have been wounded, like 
the heart which these arguments are directed to set at 
ease, by the death of a beloved child. Consider, madam, 
too, that by her earlier death she has escaped those sor- 
rows she would have suffered for you. — You only have 
to mourn for the loss of her; but she might have mourned 
for you, for herself, and for her offspring. 

Indeed, the loss of this intellectual being might be ac- 
counted a misfortune almost at any rate, were this sensi- 
ble, warm motion to become a kneaded clod;^ but we, 
who are taught such noble conceptions of the Author of 
natm'e, can never suppose that He will suffer even a tem- 
porary cessation of consciousness. — I cannot enter into 
those gloomy apprehensions that when the immortal spi- 
rit has forsaken the body, its faculties shall for a time 
be chained down in a state of unconscious stupidity. 
Such an appointment would, in my opinion, both be in- 
consistent with the nature and properties of the soul, and 
contrary to the attributes of its benevolent Creator. To 
what various modes of being, inconceivable to us, may 
not Omnipotence assign our departed spirits? What de- 
grees of happiness may not He have in store, adapted to 
intellectual existence? Concluding then, that your \ii-tu- 
ous Harriet is now in a state of superior bliss, how su- 
perfluous would it be to mourn on her account! Would 
you, were it in your power, recall her happy spirit to 
these regions of chance and vanity? Would you wish 
the liberal mind to leave its intellectual feast, and reani- 

* Shakspeare. 



A LETTER BY JOHN LANGHORNE, D. D. SGI 

mate a clod of earth? Would you then confine its dilated 
powers in the prison of a mortal body, and suhject it to 
all the pains of its miserable partner? ^"^No; surely, no/*' 
I hear you say, " I will mourn no longer for my child.'' 

Yet, possibly, you may mourn for yourself; there is 
always something selfish in those sorrows that seem to 
be most social. It is hard, you will say, that you sliould 
lose the comfort of such a child in the decline of life. 
Her filial tenderness would have cheered the languor of 
age, and would have strewed its barren way with the 
flowers of youth. Moreover, what joy must it have been 
to you to have seen your maternal cares successful in 
her growing virtues, and those virtues crovrned with 
the happiness they deserved! This, madam, you have 
lived to see. Believe it, your Harriet is now in posses- 
sion of greater happiness than this world has to give. 
By her death you are no doubt deprived of many com- 
forts, but may not these be more than made up to you, 
by the pleasure of reflecting on that sublime felicity she 
now enjoys. Indulge that reflection, and how poor, how 
contemptible will every thing else appear upon compa- 
rison! 

AVere not these arguments sufficient to set your heart 
at ease, I might refer you to the universal law of nature, 
from which there is no appeal. Have not death and ridn 
established their empire over all her works? Is not the 
history of every nation replete with their triumphs? 
Does not every place through which you pass present 
you with the ruins of existence? Cease the mother's 
sighs a moment, amd attend the general condition of 
nature. Cast your eye upon yon continent — there she 
sits bewailing the destruction of her sons; — there have 
perished, within these few years, more than two hun- 
dred thousand of the human species by ih^ devouring 
jaws of war. Shall we afflict ourselves for a private loss 
when the world is dying around us! Let us remember 
that we were born within tlie precincts of death, aud 
sacrifice to him without many tears. 

46 



362 A LETTER Bl JOHN LANGJIORNE, D. D. 

I am persuaded^ madam, that none of these things 
were hid from you; but it is possible^ that in the depth 
of your affliction you might not attend to them. Should 
I add more, I might seem to distrust your prudence; 
but had I said less, I should not have proportioned my 
arguments to the greatness of your grief. Happy should 
I be, if I could have the least vreight with you! — ^If you 
would now convince the world that, as you are possess- 
ed of every other virtue, you are not wanting in forti- 
tude. 



LETTER 

FROM THE REV. MR. JOB ORTON 

TO THE 

HEV. DR. STONEHOUSE,* 
QJV THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTES, 

I AM grieved to hear your amiable daughter is dead. 
I sincerely and very tenderly sympathise with you under 
this affliction^ by which^ you are visited with sorrow upon 
sorrow, as it so soon follows the great loss of your son. 
Though I know not the heart of a parent, yet I bless 
God my temper is naturally impressible and compassion- 
ate: and though in some cases it hath been a source of 
grief, more than, in like circumstances, many others have 
felt; yet I believe my suffering friends have not wished 

* Few readers need to be inrormed, that Dr. Stonehouse was a 
clergyman of the church of England. Ho had been many years a 
physician at JVorthampton^ and was a professed deist. Dr. Dod- 
dridge was the happy instrument of his conversion. He after- 
wards entered into orders, had the livings of Great and Little 
Cheverell, in Wilts; but resided part of the year at Bristol-Wells. 
He formed an acquaintance with Mr. Orton at J\'*orthainpton, and 
ever afterwards maintained] a correspondence with him. See a 
full account of this eminent man in Mr. Stedman's collection of 
his letters, particularly No. 36. 

The following Letter the Doctor himself inserted in a news- 
paper, under the title of a letter from a minister to one in cifflic- 
tio7i. Writing to Mr. Stedman, soon after, he says, {Let, vii.) 
'< Mr. Orton's Letter to me on the death of my daughter, Mrs. 
" Palk, which appeared in the Bristol Journal, was much liked; 
"and in a following paper there was an encomium upon it, but 
" by whom I know not. He does not wish to have it known that 
« he was the writer of it, because, says he, it was a hasty pro- 
^' duction; though printed by his own permission, at my request.'' 
Mr. Stedman has subjoined a copy of it, by way of note. 



S64 LETTER BY JOB ORTON, D. D. 

it less so, nor upon the whole, have I myself. I have 
lost many valuable young friends, whose education I 
had watched over with a parental eye and care; whose 
characters were upright, amiable, and honourable, and 
whom therefore I loved as my children. My heart hath 
felt an anguish upon theh^ removal, perhaps equal to 
what most parents feel in such cases, and I have found 
a dreadful chasm made in my hopes and joys. 

Such scenes are still in my remembrance; and there- 
fore I feel deeply and affectionately for you, under this 
stroke, to which the distance of time and place makes 
no inconsiderable addition. I wish I could any way light- 
en your burden and dry your weeping eyes. But what 
can I write or say, but what is already familiar, and I 
hope soothing and comforting, to your wounded spirit? 
However, let me desire you to turn your thoughts, dear 
sir, to God your Father and her's who is now numbered 
with the dead; and to Jesus Christ her Saviour and 
your's, and remember his bleeding compassion, dying 
love, perfect example of submission: his precious pro- 
mises, his entrance into heaven, and intercession for us 
there. Turn your thoughts to that fulness of grace and 
spiritual influence which he has to communicate to all 
his friends and servants in the time of need. Think of 
the relation you have to tlie world on which she is en- 
tered, and of the serious hours you have had together, 
with a view of parting when God appointed. 

When you parted with her to so great a distance, I 
am persuaded you thought it highly probable you should 
see her no more in the flesh, and your increasing years 
and infirmities have so much increased that probability 
since, as almost to forbid the hope of it. So that her re- 
moval to another world, hath, in this light, many alle- 
viating circumstances; especially as you have so often, 
so seriously, and so solemnly, since that first parting, 
left yourself and her and all your interests, mortal and 
immortal, with her and your Father and God, absolutely 
and without reserve. 

If nature Avill not be duly influenced by such consi- 
derations, turn your thoughts to, and keep them upon, 



LETTER BY JOB ORTON, D. D. 365 

the hope you have of meeting again^ and enjoying one 
another in a far different manner from Avhat this poor 
world will admit, though she had been settled near you, 
or even in the place Avhere you live; and which [meeting] 
when it happens^ will make all the duration of our pre- 
sent enjoyment of one another a matter of no conse- 
quence at all. Think again, my worthy fellow-labourer 
in the gospel, what you have said to others in like cir- 
cumstances, from the pulpit and in the parlour, and what 
you would say to me, were I now in yoiu- situation. 
Think what you have felt and tasted, and will, I trust, 
always do, in every day of trouble and distress. In 
short, turn your thoughts to every thing that will lead 
and even constrain you to believe tlie will of God to be 
wise in all its determinations; iniinitely wise: to be ap- 
provedj therefore, as well as submitted to. 

I know you will not dare to say — " Lord, is it fit 
tliat such a weight of repeated complicated affliction 
should fall to my share? that disappointments in my 
dearest earthly hopes should come one upon another; 
and that at a time too when I am more than ever intent 
upon serving thee, promoting thy glory, and saving my 
fellow immortals?'' I know you will vail in infinite 
wisdom; allow to God acts of sovereignty, and sub- 
scribe to tiie goodness as well as the justice of his con- 
duct. This he demands from us, and this he deserves. 
And is there any tiling in which we appear so much to 
advantage, and are really so ornamental to religion, and 
useful to all about us, as in manifesting an humble fidu- 
cial resignation to God, and a clieerful acquiescence in 
his will, when he is pleased to take away the delight of 
our eyes and joy of our hearts? Do we ever pray so well, 
recollect ourselves to so good purpose, aspire so much 
after the favour and love of God? Are we ever so 
hearty in religion, so careful to cherish and strengthen 
our hopes of glory? Are we ever so filled with wisdom 
and goodness; so able, so desirous, to admonish and 
comfort others, as amidst such painful scenes? Are our 
passions ever so restrained; the pleasures and posses- 
sions of this world so overlooked, and om* hearts brought 



S6^ LET l^KR HV JOB ORTON, D. D. 

not to seek great tJdngsfor ourselves and ours (see. Jer. 
xlv. 5.) as by such painful events? How had it been 
with you and me and other servants of God^ had it not 
been for afflictions? — had we not been sometimes sick 
and sometimes sad? — had we not attended chambers of 
confinement, and seen our lovely flowers fading and dy- 
ing? But then it is affliction sanctified, attended and 
followed with humble fervent prayer, and prayer attend- 
ed and followed with a supj/ly of the Sj)irit of Jesus 
Christ that is thus effectual. 

You will now show the religion of your divine Mas- 
ter to some considerable advantage; more perhaps than 
ever: and instead of sinking under the present burden, 
let it be your main care and labour to do this, and apply 
vigorously in your Master's work. An officer in our 
army in Flanders^ seeing a brother officer, whom he 
much loved, slain in a moment near him, said, ^^ Ah! 
poor captain! he is dead; but come, we must march on." 

I wish to hear of your going to Cheverel, as you 
intended. There, air and exercise will, I hope, recruit 
your languid spirits, and a zealous engagement in your 
Master's work will divert your mind from brooding 
over its sorrows, and fill it with thoughts, wishes, and 
hopes, wliicli will be your best relief, and draw down 
some peculiar support and consolation from above. For 
when are we so likely to enjoy them as when we vigo- 
rously serve our divine Master, amidst disappointment 
and tribulation? A pious, zealous minister once wrote 
to me to this effect: ^^ 1 have been under sore affliction 
by the death of my dear child: but God enabled me to 
be the more active and diligent in his work, and I have 
reason to believe that, by my labours since that event, 
he hath given me at least seven spiritual children, who 
will be my joy and crown of rejoicing in that day.^^ 
May this be your happy case! Then it will indeed be 
good for you to have been thus afflicted. I am daily 
mindful of you in my poor way, and commend you and 
yours to the great Intercessor, whom the Father heareth 
always. 



A LETTER 

BY DVGJIL BUCH^jyjVJiJS', 

ON THE 

DEATH OF A FAVOURITE DAUGHTER. 

The following letter was written by Dugal Buchannan, an 
obscure peasant, who lived in the Highlands of Scotland, to a 
respectable citizen of Edinburgh, upon hearing of the death of 
one of his daughters, who was deservedly dear to himself, and 
all his family. 

The elevated and pious sentiments contained in this letter, 
■will be an apology for the plainness of its style. It is happily 
calculated to console parents, who may be visited by a similar 
affliction.* 

TO MR. . 

Bear Sir^ 

I RECEIVED a letter from Mr. ^ acquainting 

me with the death of your daughter^ Miss Jenny. How 
it affected me, I cannot so well describe as Mr. 

* The author of this letter, during a visit he once paid to the 
city of Edinburgh, went upon business into the house of a gen- 
tleman, in whose parlour he saw a bust of Shakspeare, in alto 
relievo, with the following lines inscribed under it: 

" The cloud-capt towers, the j^orgeous palaces, 
" The solemn temples, the great g-lobe itself, 
" Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve, 
*' And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
** Leave not a rack behind." 

The gentleman, perceiving INIr. Buchannan's eyes attracted 
t)y these lines, asked him, if he had ever read any tiling equal to 
them in sublimity — " Yes, I have, (said Mr. B.) the following 
passage in the book of Revelations is much more sublime — > 
*< And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from 
whose face the earth and the heaven fled away, and there was 
found no place for them." (Rev. xx. 11.) "You are right," 
said the gentleman, " I never saw the sublimity of that passage 
before," 



S68 A LETTER BY DUGAL BUCK ANN AN. 

has clone. What an alleviating circumstance is it in 
your trial, that you have no reason to mourn as those 
who have no hope. How many live to see their children 
cut off in the prime of life, by diseases which are the 
just effects of vice and intemperance! How many darts 
and thorns must pierce their hearts! What additional 
gall and wormwood is mixed in their cup, which the re- 
lations and parents of pious children are strangers to! 
Imagine then you hear your dear departed child adopt- 
ing the language of her Redeemer, and saying, " If ye 
loved me, ye would rejoice^ because I am gone to the 
Father." But how backward are our hearts to this 
duty of rejoicing — Our passions often get the better of 
our understanding as well as our faith; and our memo- 
ries, which are treaclierous enough on otlier occasions, 
are ever faithful here; and by cruelly mustering up all 
the amiable qualities of our departed friends in a long 
succession, open our wounds to bleed afresh. Nay, our 
imagination is set at work, and stuffs up their empty 
garments in their former shape, when we miss them at 
bed or board. It is truly surprising, that when our un- 
derstandings and judgments are fully convinced of the 
equity of God's ways, and that his whole paths are not 
only truth, but mercy, to such as fear him, that it has so 
little influence in silencing the inward murmurs of our 
souls. Instead therefore of poring over our wounds, 
and refusing to be comforted, we should endeavour to 
acquire the blessed art of letting our faith trace out our 
friends in the regions of bliss and immortality; where, 
to use Milton's words, "They walk with God — high 
^' in salvation, and the climes of bliss.'' Although re- 
velation hath left us so much in the dark with regard to 
the employments of departed saints; yet surely it is par^ 
donable to cast some conjectures over this wall that di- 
vides us from our Mends. It is impossible to confine 
our active souls under the canopy of sun, moon, and 
stars; and since so little is revealed to us of the hea- 
venly state, analogy must be our next best guide, in ex- 
ploring those mysteries which eye hath not seen, nor 
ear heard, nor the heart of man been able to conceive. 



A LETTER BY DUGAL BUCHANNAN. S69 

I remember some time ago to have seen a book of Dr. 
Watts called^ ' Beatli and Heaven ^ in which he has 
happily indulged his fancy in assigning various employ- 
ments to the blessed. He thinks there may be some so- 
lemn stated periods of worship in heaven, beyond Avhat 
is their common service, either to commemorate some 
of the past transactions of the Godhead, or to celebrate 
some new discovery of God. And truly, considering th.e 
infinite nature of God, and his glorious acts of creation 
and redemption, and the finite nature of the highest 
order of created beings, there must be new discoveries 
made to the blessed through all eternity. Now, as they 
can only receive such discoveries in succession, it is 
highly probable that some of the past acts of Jehovah 
will be commemorated at stated periods, to endless ages. 
Perhaps some such manifestation, or a discovery has 
been lately made, unknown 'till now in heaven itself; 
and perhaps there has been a new song composed on this 
occasion, either by Michael, Gabriel, Moses, or David, 
or some other masterly hand, to celebrate this new dis- 
covery; and perhaps the concert was incomplete, till a 
messenger was despatched from heaven for your dear 
child, to assist in singing the chorus, as her sweet melo- 
dious voice was so well tuned before to the songs of 
Zion. — Our Lord once entered into Jerusalem with a 
grand retinue, and he had a demand for an ass to ride 
upon, that he might fulfil an ancient propliecy concern- 
ing himself.— A messenger was despatched for the ass; 
and if the owner refused him, he had positive orders to 
tell him, that *^tlie Lord had need of him.' If your heart 
complains that your child was too soon loosed from you, 
saying, ^ Why was my dear child so suddenly snatched 
from me, in the bloom of youth; when I expected she 
should be the comfort of my old age, and sooth my 
pains and distress.' Why, the same answer stands on re- 
cord for you, ^the Lord had need of her.' He had need 
of more virgins in his train, and your dear cliild Avas 
pitched upon: Therefore rejoice in her honour and hap- 
piness. Oar Lord hath gone to heaven to prepare man- 

47 



S70 A LETTER BY DUGAL BUCHANNAN. 

sions for liis people^ and lie sends his Spirit to prepare 
his people for their mansions; that they may be fit to act 
agreeably to the great end of their calling, and to fill 
their thrones to the honour of that God, who hath called 
them to glory and honour. He then crowns them with 
endless happiness. Some have a longer time of proba- 
tion than others. The great dresser of God's vineyard 
knows best when to transplant his fruit-bearing trees. 
We ought, therefore, always to acquiesce in his wis- 
dom. — If I were to reason from analogy, I might ask 
your spouse when she was with child of her departed 
daughter, if she desired to keep her in that close union 
with lierself any longer than her full time was come; that 
is, when the child was perfectly formed for this world, 
and fit to exercise its senses upon the various objects 
that the world affords: Nay, did she not wish for the 
happy minute of separation, though she knew the pangs 
and throes of child bearing. And why should you or 
Mrs. — , who rejoiced at her first birth, mourn at her 
being admitted into the number of the spuits of the just 
made perfect; when it is certain that many who rejoiced 
with you at her birth, hailed her arrival on the coasts 
of bliss. Among those who rejoiced with you at her 
first birth, and saluted her on the heavenly, we may 
safely mention Mr. and Mrs. — , and others of your 
pious relations and neighbours, who have got crowns ou 
their heads, and palms in their hands, since her first 
birth. But I see that this subject would lead me beyond 
the bounds of a letter. May the Lord bless your remain- 
ing children, and preserve them to be the comfort of your 
age; and form them to be vessels of honour, fit for the 
Master's use! I have only to add, that from my very 
soul I sympathize with you, and the rest of your dear 
family^ in your loss, which is her gain and glory. 

Your most obliged humble servant, 

D. B. 



PATHETIC LETTER 

O.V THE DEATH OF ^JV" 0^^L¥ CHILD. 

There is a nestling worm in every flower along the 
path of life; and, wliile we admire the spreading leaves 
and unfolding blossom, the traitor often consumes the 
root, and all the beauty falls. You are not surprised that 
my letter opens with a serious reflection on the fleeting 
state of earthly pleasures. This my frequent theme will 
continue, I believe, till my eyes are shut upon this world, 
and I repose upon a bed of dust. — The son of sorrow 
can teach you to tremble over every blessing you enjoy. 
Pay nowy to thy living friend, the tear which was re- 
served for his grave. I have undergone one of the se- 
verest trials human nature can experience. I have seen 
a dear and only child, the little companion of all my hours 
of leisure, the delight of my eyes, the pride of my hearty 
iStrugghng in agonies of pain, while I poured over him my 
tears and pray^^s to heaven in vain. I have seen him dy- 
ing — dead — coffined. — I have kissed him in his shroud 
—I have taken the last farewell — I have heard the bell 
call him to the silent vault, and am now no more a father! 
' — I am stabbed to the heart, cut to the brain. 

; Haerct lateri lethalis arundo. ' 

VlRG. 

With what tender care was the boy nursed! — How 
often has he been the pleasing burden of my arms! — 
What hours of anxiety for his welfare have I felt! — 
What endearing amusements for him invented! Amiable 
was his person, sensible his mind. — All who saw, loved 
liim — all who knew him admired a genius which outi'an 
his years. The sun no sooner rose than it was eclipsed. 
No sooner was the flower opened, than it was cut down. 
My mind eagerly revolves every moment of past joy. — ^ 
All the parental atfections rush like a torrent and over- 



m 



r.r2 PATHETIC LETTKR ON THE 

whelm me. — Wherever I go I seem to see and hear him, 
turn round — and lose him. 

What does this world present^ but a long walk of mi- 
sery and desolation? — In tears man is born — in agonies 
he dies. — What fills up the interval? — Momentary joys 
and lasting pains. — Within^ a war of passions; without, 
tumult and disorder reign. Fraud, oppression, riot, ra- 
pine, bloodshed, murder, fill up the tragic tale of every 
day; so that a wise man must often wish to have his cur- 
tain dropt, and the scene of vanity and vexation closed. 
— To me, a church-yard is a pleasing walk. — ^JMy feet 
often draw towards the graves, and my eyes turn towards 
the vault, where all the contentions of this world cease, 
and where the weary are at rest. ^^I praise,'^ with Solo- 
mon, " the dead who are already dead, more than the 
living who are yet alive.^^ 

I will call reason and religion to my aid. — Prayers 
and tears cannot restore my child— ^and to God who 
made us we must submit — Perhaps, he was snatched in 
mercy from some impending wo. — In life he might have 
been miserable, in death he must be happy. — I will 
not think him dead — I will not consider him confined ia 
the vault, or mouldering in the dust — but risen — clad 
with true glory and immortality; gone to the regions of 
eternal day, where he will never know the loss of parents, 
or of a chikl; — gone above the reach of sorrow, vice, or 
pain. That little hand, which was so busy to please here, 
now holds a cherub's harp. — That voice, which was mu- 
sic to my ears; warbles sweet symphonies to our Uni- 
versal Father, Lord, and King. — Those feet, which ran 
to welcome me from toil, and my arms received, while 
I held him up, and for the blessing used to thank my 
God, now traverse the starry pavement of the heavens. — 
The society of weak, impure, unhappy mortals is ex- 
changed for that of powerful, pure, blessed spirits; — and 
his fair brow is encircled with a never-fading crown. 

Shall I then grieve, that he, who is become an an- 
gel, grew not to be a man? Shall I drag him from the 
skies? Wish him in the vale of sorrow? — I would not, 
Biy dear boy, interrupt thy bliss. — It is not fca- thee, but 



DEATH OF AN ONLY CHILD. S73 

for myself I weep. — ^I speak as if he was present. — And 
who can tell, but that he sees and hears me? — ^" Are there 
not ministering spirits?'^ — And our great Milton says, 

" Millions of spiritual creatures, walk the earth, 
Unseen, both when we sleep and when we wake." 

Perhaps^ even now, he hovers over me with rosy 
wings — dictates to my hearty, and guides the hand that 
writes. 

The consideration of the sorrows of this life, and the 
glories of the next, is our best support. — Dark are the 
ways of Providence while we are wrapped up in mor- 
tality;— -but, convinced there is a God, we must hope 
and believe, that all is right. 

May the remainder of my days be spent in a faith- 
ful discharge of the duty I owe to the Supreme Disposer 
of all events! I am but as a pilgrim here, have trod 
many rough paths, and drunk many bitter cups. — As 
my days shorten, may the Sun of Righteousness bright- 
en over me, till I arrive at the new Jerusalem, where tears 
are wiped away from every eye, and sorrow is no more! 
— ^May 1 descend into the grave, from which I have 
lately had so many '^ hair-breadth, 'scapes,^^ in peace! 
May I meet my angel boy at the gate of death; and may 
his hand conduct me to the palace of eternity! These 
are the fervent prayers of 

Your afflicted friend, 

T. J. 



* 



A MONUMENT 
TO THE PRAISE OF THE LORD'S GOODNESS, 

AND 

ro THE MEMORY OF ELIZA CUJSTIJ^GHML 

Published for the benefit of a Charitable Institution. 

JESUS AMOll MEUS EST, SI RIDEAT, OMNIA RIDENT. 

Death where is thy sting? 1 Cor. xv. 55. 
{First printed in 1785.) 



PREFACE. 

When the following narrative was drawn up, the writer was 
aware that his feelings rendered him incompetent to judge how 
much of a relation, every part of which was interesting to him- 
self, might be fit to offer to the public. 

Many little circumstances which the indulgence of a friend 
could bear with, might, to strangers, appear trivial and imperti- 
nent. He therefore only wrote for his friends; and printed no 
more copies than he thought would be sufficient to distribute 
within the circle of his personal acquaintance. But as the paper 
has been much inquired after, and many of his friends have ex- 
pressed their wish, that it might be more extensively circulated, 
he has at length yielded to their solicitations. 

It is to be lamented, that in this enlightened age, so signal- 
ized by the prevalence of a spirit of investigation, religion 
should, by many, be thought the only subject unworthy of a 
serious inquiry; and that while in every branch of science they 
studiously endeavour to trace every fact to its proper and ade- 
quate cause, and are cautious of admitting any theory wliich 
cannot stand the test of ejcperiment, they treat the use of the 
term experimental., when applied to religion, witli contempt. 
Yet there are many things connected witli this subject, in which, 
whether we are willing or unwilling, we are and must be nearly 
interested. Death, for instance, is inevitable. And if there he 



376 niEFACE. 

an hereafter^ (and it is impossible to prove that there is not,) 
the consequence of death must be important. Many persons die 
as they live, thoughtless and careless what consequences may 
await them. Others whose character and conduct do not appear 
to have been worse than those of the former cannot die so. 
They have dark and painful forebodings, and leave this world 
with reluctance and terror. And there are others who, though 
conscious that they are sinners, and sure that they are about to 
enter upon an unchangeable and endless state of existence, pos- 
sess peace, composure, and joy. These declare, that they owe 
this happy state of mind to their dependence upon Jesus the 
Saviour, on whose blood and mediation they have built their 
hopes. And who can possibly disprove their words? Such an in- 
stance is now in the reader's hands. The fact is indubitable. A 
child, under the age of fifteen, did thus rejoice in the midst of 
pains and agonies, to the admiration of all that beheld her. 'She 
was willing to leave all her friends whom she dearly loved, and 
by whom she was tenderly beloved; for she knew whom she be- 
lieved, and that when she should be absent from the body, she 
would be present with the Lord. With this assurance, she tri- 
umphed in the prospect of glory, and smiled upon the approach 
of death. 

It may be presumed, that whoever seriously considers this 
case, will not be able to satisfy himself, by ascribing such re- 
markable effects, in so young a subject, to tlie power of habit, 
example, or system. If he does not account for them upon the 
principles of the Gospel, he will be unable to assign any pro- 
portionable cause. And it is to be feared, that if he is not af- 
fected by a testimony so simple and so striking, neither would 
he be persuaded though one should rise from the dead. 

HoxtoYij wYoi\ ir, 1785. 



A MONUMENT 

TO THE PRAISE OF THE LORD'S GOODNESS^ 



ANO TO THE 



MEMORY OF DEAR ELIZA CUJ^TLYGHJiM* 

As I ^vrite not for the eye of the public, but chiefly 
to put a testimony of the Lord^s goodness into the hands 
of my dear friends who have kindly afforded us their 
sympathy and prayers on the late occasion; I do not 
mean either to restrain the emotions of my hearty, or to 
apologize for them. I shall write simply and freely as 
I might speak to a person^ to whose intimacy and ten- 
derness I can fully intrust myself, and who, I know, 
will bear with all my weaknesses. 

In May, 1782, my sister Cuningham was at Edin- 
burgh, chiefly on account of her eldest daughter, then ia 
the fourteenth year of her age, who was very ill of a 
consumption. She had already buried an only son, at 
the age of twelve; and while all a mother^s care and 
feelings were engaged by the rapid decline of a second 
amiable child, she was unexpectedly and suddenly be- 
reaved of an affectionate husband. Her trials were great, 
but the Lord had prepared her for them. She was a 
believer. Her faith was strong; her graces active; her 
conduct exemplaiy. She walked with God, and he sup- 
ported her. And though she was a tender and sympa- 
thizing friend, she had a happy firmness of temper, so 
that her character as a Christian, and the propriety of 
her behaviour in every branch of life, appeared with 
peculiar advantage in the season of affliction. She re- 
turned to Anstruther a widow, with her sick cliild, who 
languished till October, and then died. 

* The last surviving child of Mr. James Cuningham, of Pit- 

tar^hie, Fife shire. 

48 



3f8 A MONUMENT TO THE 

Though my sister had many valuable and pleasing 
connexions in Scotland^ yet her strongest tie being bro- 
ken, she readily accepted my invitation to come and live 
with us. She was not only dear to me as Mrs. New- 
ton's sister, but we had lived long in the habits of inti- 
mate friendship. I knew her worth, and she was partial 
to me. She had yet one child remaining, her dear Eliza. 
We already had a dear orphan niece, whom we had, 
about seven years before, adopted for our own daughter. 
My active, fond imagination, anticipated the time of her 
arrival, and drew a pleasing picture of the addition the 
company of such a sister, such a friend, would make to 
the happiness of our family. The children likewise — 
there was no great disparity between them either in years 
or stature. From what I had heard of Eliza, I was pre- 
pared to love her before I saw her; though she came 
afterwards into my hands like a heap of untold gold, 
which, when counted over, proves to be a larger sum 
than was expected. My fancy paired and united these 
children; I hoped that the friendship between us and 
my sister would be perpetuated in them; I seemed to see 
them like twin sisters, of one heart and mind, habited 
nearly alike, always together, always with us. Such 
was my plan — but the Lord's plan was very different, 
and therefore mine failed. It is happy for us poor short- 
sighted creatures, unable as we are to foresee the conse- 
quences of our own wishes, that if we know and trust 
him, he is often pleased to put a merciful negative upon 
our purposes; and condescends to choose better for us 
than we can for ourselves. What might have been the 
issue of my plan, could it have taken place, I know not; 
but I can now praise and adore him for the gracious 
issue of Ms. I praise his name, that I can cheerfully 
comply with his word, which says, "Be still, and know 
that I am God." I not only can bow, (as it becomes a 
creature and a sinner to do,) to his sovereignty; but I 
admire his wisdom and goodness, and can say from my 
heart, '^ He has done all things well.'' 

My sister had settled her affairs previous to her re- 
moval, and nothing remained, but to take leave of her 



MEMORY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. 379 

friends^ of whom she had many not only in Anstruther, 
but in different parts of the country. In February, 1783j, 
I received a letter from her, which before I opened, I 
expected was to inform me that she was upon the road 
in her way to London. But the information was, that in 
a little journey she had made to bid a friend farewell, 
she had caught a violent cold, which brought on a fever 
and a cough, with other symptoms, which though she 
described as gently as possible, that we might not be 
alarmed, obhged me to give up instantly the pleasing 
hope of seeing her. Succeeding letters confirmed my 
apprehensions; her malady increased, and she was soon 
confined to her bed. Eliza was at school at Mussel- 
burgh. Till then she had enjoyed a perfect state of 
health; but while her dear mother was rapidly declin- 
ing, she likewise caught a great cold, and lier life was 
soon thought to be in danger. On this occasion, that for- 
titude and resolution which so strongly marked my sis- 
ters character, was remarkably displayed. She knew 
that her own race was almost finished; she earnestly 
desired that Eliza might live or die with us: And the 
physicians advised a speedy removal to the South. 
Accordingly, to save time and to save Eliza from the 
impressions which the sight of a dying parent might 
probably make upon her spirits, and possibly apprehen- 
sive that the mtervieAv might make too great an impres- 
sion upon her o^^ii, she sent this her only beloved child 
from Edinburgh directly to London, without letting her 
come home to take a last leave of her. She contented 
herself with committing and bequeathing her child to 
our care and love, in a letter, which I believe was the 
last she was able to write. 

Thus powerfully recommended by the pathetic chaige 
of a dying parent, the dearest friend we had upon earth, 
and by that plea for compassion, which her illness might 
have strongly urged even upon strangers, we received 
our dear Eliza as a trust, and as a treasure, on the fif- 
teenth of March. My sister lived long enough to have 
the comfort of knowing, not only that she was safely 
airived, but was perfectly pleased with her new situst- 



S80 A MONUMENT TO THE 

tion. She was now freed from all earthly cares. She 
suifered much in the remaming part of her illness, but 
she knew in whom she believed; she possessed a peace 
past understanding, and a hope full of glory. She enter- 
ed into the joy of her Lord on the tenth of May, 1783, 
respected and regretted by all who knew her. 

I now perceived that the Lord had sent me a treasure 
indeed. Eliza's person was agreeable. There was an 
ease and elegance in her whole address, and a graceful- 
ness, till long illness and great weakness bowed her 
dovm. Her disposition was lively, her genius quick and 
inventive, and if she had enjoyed health, she probably 
would have excelled in every thing she attempted, that 
required ingenuity. Her understanding, particularly her 
judgment, and her sense of propriety, was far above her 
years. There was something in her appearance which 
usually procured her favour at first sight. She was ho- 
noured by the notice of several persons of distinction, 
which though I thankfully attribute in part to their 
kindness to me, I believe was a good deal owing to 
something uncommon in her. But her principal endear- 
ing qualities, Avhich could be only fully known to us, 
who lived with her, were the sweetness of her temper, 
and a heart formed for the exercise of affection, grati- 
tude, and friendship. Whether, when at school, she 
might have heard sorrowful tales from children, Avho, 
having lost their parents, met with a great difference, in 
point of tenderness, when they came under the direc- 
tion of uncles and aunts, and might think that all un- 
cles and aunts were alike, I know not; but I have un- 
derstood since from herself, that she did not come to us 
with any highly raised expectations of the treatment 
she was to meet with. But as she found (the Lord in 
mercy to her and to us having opened our hearts to re- 
ceive her) that it was hardly possible for her own pa- 
rents to have treated her more tenderly, and that it was 
from that time the business and pleasme of our lives, to 
study how to oblige her, and how to alleviate the afflic- 
tions, we were unable to remove; so we likewise found, 
that the seeds of our kindness could hardly be sown in 



HEMOHY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. SBl 

a more promising and fruitful soil. I know not that 
either her aunt or I ever saw a cloud upon her counte- 
nance during the time she was Avith us. It is true we 
did not, we could not unnecessarily cross her; but if we 
thought it expedient to over-rule any proposal she made, 
she acquiesced Avith a sweet smile: and we Avere certain 
that we should never hear of that proposal again. Her 
delicacy however was quicker than our observation; and 
she would sometimes say, Avhen Ave could not perceive 
the least reason for it, ^^I am afraid I ansAvered you 
peevishly; indeed I did; if I did, I ask your pardon. 
I should be very ungrateful, if I thought any pleasure 
equal to that of endeaAouring to please you.'^ It is no 
wonder that Ave dearly loved such a child. 

Wonderful is the frame of the human heart. The 
Lord claims and deserA^es it all; yet there is still room 
for all the charities of relative life, and scope for their 
full play; and they are capable of yielding the sincerest 
pleasures this world can afford, if held in subordination 
to Avhat is supremely due to him. The marriage relation, 
Avhen cemented by a divine blessing, is truly a union of 
hearts, and the loA^e resulting from it Avill admit of no 
competition in the same kind. Children haAe the next 
claim; and Avhether there be one, or two, or many, each 
one seems to be the object of the Avliole of the parents' 
love. Perhaps my friends who have children, may think 
that I, who never had any, can only talk by guess upon 
this subject. I presume not to dispute the point Avitli 
them. But Avhen it pleased the Lord to put my dear 
Betsey under my care, I seemed to acquire a new set of 
feelings, if not exactly those of a parent, yet, as I con- 
ceive, not altogether unlike them. And I long thought it 
was not possible for me to love any child as I did her. 
But when Eliza came, she, Avithout being her rival, 
quickly participated Avith her in the same aff'ection. I 
found I had room enough for them both, Avithout preju- 
dice to either. I loved the one very dearly, and the other 
no less than before; if it Avere possible, still more, Avhen 
I saAv that she entered into my a ieAvs, received, and be- 
haved to her cousin Avith great affection, and ascribed 



382 A MONUMENT TO THE 

many little indulgencies and attentions which were 
shown to her, to their proper ground, the consideration 
of her ill state of health, and not any preference that 
could operate to her disadvantage. For the Lord was 
pleased to answer my prayers in this respect so graci- 
ously, that I could not perceive that any jealousy or 
suspicion took place between them, on either side, from 
first to last. 

The hectic fever, cough, and sweats, which Eliza 
brought with her from Scotland, were subdued in the 
course of the summer, and there appeared no reason to 
apprehend that she would be taken off very suddenly. 
But still there was a worm preying upon the root of 
this pretty gourd. She had seldom any severe pain, till 
within the last fortnight of her life, and usually slept 
well; but when awake she was always ill. I believe she 
knew not an hour of perfect ease; and they who inti- 
mately knew her state, could not but wonder to see her 
so placid, cheerful, and attentive, when in company, as 
she generally was. Many times, when the tears have 
silently stolen down her cheeks, if she saw that her 
aunt or I observed her, she would wipe them away, 
come to us with a smile and a kiss; and say, " Do not 
be uneasy, I am not very ill, I can bear it, I shall be 
better presently;'' or to that effect. 

Her case was thought beyond the reach of medicine, 
and, for a time, no medicine was used. She had air and 
exercise, as the weather and circumstances would per- 
mit. For the rest, she amused herself as she could with 
her guitar or harpsichord, with her needle, and with 
reading. She had a part likewise, when able, in su€h 
visits as we paid or received; and our visits were gene- 
rally regulated by a regard to what she could bear. Her 
aunt, especially, seldom went abroad but at such times, 
and to such places, as we thought agreeable and conve- 
nient to her. For we could perceive that she loved home 
best, and best of all when we were at home with her. 

In April, 1784, we put her under the care of my dear 
friend Dr. Benamor. To the blessing of the Lord on 
his skill and endeavours^ I ascribe the pleasure of hav- 



MEMORY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. 383 

ing her continued with us so long; nor can I sufficiently 
express my gratitude for his assiduous unwearied atten- 
tion, nor for his great tenderness. • She is now gone^ 
and can no more repeat what she has often spoken, of 
the great comfort it was to her to have so affectionate 
and sympathising physician; but while I live, I hope it 
will always be my pleasure to acknowledge our great 
obligations to him on her account. I should be ungrate- 
ful, likewise, were 1 to omit mentioning the kindness of 
Dr. Allen of Dulwich, who attended her daily during 
her last stay at Southampton. He was so obliging, like- 
wise, as to visit her, and to meet Dr. Benamor upon 
her case, after her return to London. Their joint pre- 
scription was carefully followed. But what can the most 
efficacious medicines, or the best physicians avail to pro- 
long life, when the hour approaches, in which the prayer 
of the Great Intercessor must be accomplished, " Father, 
I will that they whom thou hast given me may be with 
me where I am to behold my glory.'^ This was the pro- 
per cause of my dear Eliza's death. The Lord sent 
this child to me to be brought up for him; he owned my 
poor endeavours: and when her education was completed, 
and she was ripened for heaven, he took her home, to 
himself. He has richly paid me my wages, in the em- 
ployment itself, and in the happy issue. 

Dr. Benamor advising a trial of the salt water, we 
passed the month of August, 1784, with her, partly at 
Mr. Walter Taylor's, at Southampton, and partly at 
Charles Etty's, Esq. of Priestlands, near Symington. 
While she was with these kind and generous friends, 
she had every accommodation and assistance that could 
be thought of or wished for. And the bathing was evi- 
dently useful, so far as to give some additional strength 
to her very weak and relaxed frame, wliich assisted her 
in going more comfortably through the last winter. We 
were, therefore, encouraged, and advised to repeat our 
visit to Southampton this autumn. But the success was 
not the same. Her feet and legs had already begun to 
swell, and the evening before she took cold, which 
bimight ou a return of the fever and cough; and though 



384 A MONUMENT TO THE 

Df. Allen was successful in removing these symptoms 
in about a fortnight, and she bathed a few times, she 
could not persevere. However, the advantages of situa- 
tion, air, and exercise, being much greater than she could 
have in London, and as we were with friends whom she, 
as well as we, dearly loved, she continued at South- 
ampton six w^eeks; but she was unable to proceed to 
Mr. Etty^s, who was very desirous of repeating his for- 
mer kindness. The Lord strengthened her to perform 
her journey home without inconvenience. Slie returned 
the sixteenth of September; then she entered our door 
for the last time, for she went out no more, till she was 
carried out to be put into the hearse. 

I have thus put together, in one view, a brief account 
of what relates to her illness, till within the last three 
weeks of her pilgrimage. I now come to what is much 
more important and interesting. Her excellent parents 
had conscientiously endeavoured to bring her up in the 
nurture and admonition of the Lord, and the principles 
of religion had been instilled into her from her infancy. 
Their labours were thus far attended with success. That 
no child could be more obedient or obliging, or more re- 
mote from evil habits or evil tempers; but I could not 
perceive, when she came to us, that she had any heart- 
affecting sense of divine things. But being under my 
roof, she of course, when her health would permit, at- 
tended on my ministry, and was usually when I prayed 
and expounded the Scriptures, morning and evening, in 
the family. Friends and ministers were likewise fre- 
quently with us, whose character and conversation wxre 
well suited to engage her notice, and to help her to form 
a right idea of the Christian principles and temper. 
Knowing that she was of a thinking turn, I left her to 
make her own reflections upon what she saw and heard, 
committing her to the Lord from whom I had received 
her, and entreating him to be her effectual teacher. 
When I did attempt to talk with her upon the concerns 
of her soul, she could give me no answer but with tears. 
But I soon had great encouragement to hope that the 
Loi^ had both enlightened her understanding, and had 



MEMQJIY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. 385 

drawn the desires of her heart to himself. Great was her 
delight in the ordinances; exemplary her attention under 
the preaching. To be debarred from going to hear prayer 
at our stated times^ was a trial which, though she pa- 
tiently bore, seemed to affect her more than any other, 
and she did not greatly care what she endured in the 
remainder of the week, provided she was W'ell enough 
to attend the public worship. The judicious observations 
she sometimes made upon what had passed in conversa- 
tion, upon incidents, books, and sermons, indicated a 
sound scriptural judgment, and a spiritual taste. And my 
hope was confirmed by her whole deportment, which 
was becoming the Gospel of Christ. So that had she 
died suddenly, on any day within about a year and a 
half past, I should have had no doubt that she had pass- 
ed from death unto life. But I could seldom prevail with 
her to speak of herself; if she did, it was with the great- 
est diffidence and caution. 

Soon after her return from Southampton, she became 
acquainted with acute pain, to which she had, till then, 
been much a stranger. Her gentle spirit, which had borne 
up under a long and langaishing illness, was not so ca- 
pable of supporting pain. It did not occasion any im- 
proper temper or language, but it wore her away apace. 
Friday the thntieth of September, she was down stairs 
for the last time, and then she was brought down and 
carried up in arms. 

It now became very desirable to hear from herself an 
explicit account of the hope that was in her; especially 
^s upon some symptoms of an approaching mollifica- 
tion, she appeared to be a little alarmed, and of course, 
not thoroughly reconciled to the thoughts of death. Her 
aunt waited for the first convenient opportunity of inti- 
mating to her the probability that the time of her depar- 
ture was at hand. The next morning, Saturday the first 
of October, presented one. She found herself remarka- 
bly better; her pains were almost gone, her spirits re- 
vived; the favourable change was visible in her counte- 
nance. Her aunt began to break the subject to her by 

49 



386 A MONUMENT TO THE 

saying, "My clear, were you not extremely ill last 
night?'^ She replied, "Indeed I was." "Had you not 
been relieved, I think you could not have continued 
long." "I believe I could not." "My dear, I have 
been very anxiously concerned for your life." " But I 
hope, my dear aunt, you are not so now." She then 
opened her mind and spoke freely. I cannot repeat the 
whole; the substance was to this effect: "My views of 
things have been for some time very different from what 
they were when I came to you. I have seen and felt the 
vanity of childhood and youth." Her aunt said, " I be- 
lieve you have long made a conscience of secret pray- 
er." She answered, " Yes; I have long and earnestly 
sought the Lord, with reference to the change which is 
now approaching. I have not yet that full assurance 
which is so desirable; but I have a hope, I trust, a good 
hope, and I believe the Lord will give me whatever he 
sees necessary for me, before he takes me from hence. I 
have prayed to him to fit me for himself; and then, whe- 
ther sooner or later, it signifies but little." Here was a 
comfortable point gained. We were satisfied that she 
had given up all expectation of living, and could speak 
of her departure widiout being distressed. 

It will not be expected that a child at her age should 
speak systematically. Nor had she learnt her religion 
from a system or form of words, however sound. The 
Lord himself was her teacher. But, from what little she 
had at different times said to me, I was well satisfied 
that she had received a true conviction of the evil of sin, 
and of her own state by nature as a sinner. When she 
spoke of the Lord, she meant the Lord Jesus Christ, 
the Great Shepherd, who gathers such lambs in his 
arms, and carries them in his bosom. She believed him 
to be God and man in one person; and that hope, of 
which she shall never be ashamed, was founded on his 
atonement, grace, and power. As I do not intend to put 
words into her mouth which she never spoke, I mention 
this lest any persons should be disappointed at not find- 
ing a certain phraseology to which they may have been 
accustomed. 



MEMORY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. 387 

Her apparent revival was of short duration. In the 
evening of the same day, she began to complain of a 
sore throatj which became worse, and, before Sunday 
noon, threatened an absolute suffocation. When Dr. 
Benamor, who the day before had almost entertained 
hopes of her recovery, found her so suddenly and gieatly 
altered, he could not at the moment, prevent some signs 
of his concern from appearing in his countenance. She 
quickly perceived it, and desired he would plainly tell 
her his sentiments. When he had recovered himself he 
said, ^^ You are not so well as when I saw you on Sa- 
tiu-day.^' She answered, that she trusted all would be 
well soon. He replied, that whether she lived or died, 
it would be well and to the glory of Grod. He told me 
that he had much pleasing conversation with her that 
morning; some particulars of which he had committed to 
writing, but that he had lost the paper. From that time 
she may be said to have been dying, as we expected her 
departure from one hour to another. 

On Monday the third, she was almost free from any 
complaint in her throat; but there was again an appear- 
ance of a mortification in her legs, which was again re- 
pelled by the means which Dr. Benamor prescribed. I 
recollect but little of the incidents of this day. In gene- 
ral she was in great pain, sometimes in agonies, unable 
to remain many minutes in the same position. But her 
mind was peaceful; she possessed a spirit of recollection 
and prayer; and her chief attention to earthly things 
seemed confined to the concern she saw in those around 
her. That she might not increase their feelings for her, 
she strove to conceal the sense of her own sujfferings. It 
pleased the Lord wonderfully to support my dear Mrs. 
Newton, and she had a tolerable night's rest, tho' I did 
not expect the child would live till morning. On Tues- 
day, the fourth, about nine in the morning, we all tliought 
her dying, and waited near two hours by her bed side 
for her last breath. She was much convulsed, and in 
great agonies. I said, " My dear, you are going to hea- 
ven; and I hope, by tlie grace of God, we in due time 
sliall follow you. She could not speak, but let us know 



388 A MONUMEN'T TO THE 

that she attended to what I said, by a gentle nod of her 
head, and a sweet sraile. I repeated to her many pas- 
sages of scripture, and verses of hymns, to each of which 
she made the same kind of answer. Though silent, her 
looks were more expressive than words. Towards eleven 
o^clock, a great quantity of coagulated phlegm, which 
she had not strength to bring up, made her rattle vio- 
lently in the throat, which we considered as a sign that 
death was at hand; and as she seemed unwilling to take 
something that was offered her, we were lothe to disturb 
her in her last moments, (as we supposed) by pressing 
her. I think she must have died in a quarter of an hour, 
had not Dr. Benamor just then come into the room. He 
felt her pulse, and observed, tliat she was not near death 
by her pulse, and desired something might be given her. 
She was perfectly sensible, though still unable to speak, 
but expressed her unwillingness to take any thing, by 
very strong efforts. However, she yielded to entreaty, 
and a tea-spoon full of some liquid soon cleared the 
passage, and she revived. Her pain however was ex- 
treme, and her disappointment great. 1 never saw hep 
so near impatience as upon this occasion. As soon as she 
could speak, she cried, ^^ Oh cruel, cruel, to recall me 
when I was so happy and so near gone! I wish you had 
not come, I long to go home." But in a few minutes she 
gTew composed, assented to what the doctor said of her 
duty to wait the Lord's time; and from that hour, though 
her desires to depart and to be with her Saviour, were 
stronger and stronger, she cheerfully took whatever was 
offered her, and frequently asked for something of her 
own accord. 

How often, if we were to have our choice, should we 
counteract our own prayers! I had entreated the Lord 
to prolong her life till she could leave an indisputable 
testimony behind her, for our comfort; yet when I saw 
her agony, and heard her say, ^-oh, how cruel to stop 
me!'' I was for a moment, almost of her mind, and could 
hardly help wishing that the doctor had delayed his \'isit 
a little longer. But if she had died then, we should have 
been deprived of what we saw and heard the t^vo fol- 



MEMORY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. SS9 

lowing days, the remembrance of which is now much 
more precious to fi^ than silver or gold. 

When the doctor came on Wednesday, she entreated 
him to tell her hov: long he thought she might live. He 
said, '' Are you in earnest, my dear?^^ She answered, 
^^ Indeed I am.'' At that time there w^ere great appear- 
ances that a mortification had actually begun. He there- 
fore told her, he thought it possible she might hold out 
till eight in the evening, but did not expect she could 
survive midnight at furthest. On hearing him say so, 
low as she w^as, her eyes seemed to sparkle with their 
former vivacity, and fixing them on him with an air of 
ineffable satisfaction, she said, " Oh, that is good news 
indeed.'' And she repeated it as such to a person who 
came soon after into the room, and said with lively 
emotions of joy, ^^The doctor tells me I shall stay here 
but a few hours more." In the afternoon she noticed 
and counted the clock, I believe, every time it struck; 
and when it struck seven, she said, " Another hour and 
then." But it pleased the Lord to spare her to us ano- 
ther day. 

She suffered much in the course of Wednesday night, 
but was quite resigned and patient. Our kind servants, 
who, from their love to her and to us, watched her night 
and day with a solicitude and tenderness, which wealth 
is too poor to purchase — were the only witnesses of the 
affectionate and gi-ateful manner in which she repeatedly 
thanked them for their services and attention to her. 
Though such an acknowledgment was no more than 
their due, yet coming from herself, and at such a time, 
they highly valued it. She added her earnest prayei's, 
that the Lord w^ould reward them. To her prayers my 
heart says. Amen. May they be comforted of the Lord 
in their dying hours as she was, and meet Avith equal 
kindness from those about them! 

I was surprised on Thursday morning to find her'not 
only alive, but in some respects better. The tokens of 
mortification again disappeared. This was her last day, 
and it was a memorable day to us. When Dr. Benaraor 
asked her how she was, she answered, " Truly happy, 



S90 A MONUMENT TO THE 

and if this be dying, it is a pleasant thing to die;'' [the 
very expression Avhich a dear friend 4^ mine used upon 
her death-bed a few years ago.] She said to me about 
ten o'clock, " My dear uncle, I wouM not change con- 
ditions with any person upon earth. Oh, how gracious 
is the Lord to me! Oh, what a change is before me!" 
She was several tunes asked, if she could wish to live, 
provided the Lord should restore her to perfect healtli? 
Her answer was, ^^Xot for all the world," and sometimes 
'' Not for a thousand Avorlds.* Do not weep for me, my 
dear aunt; but rather rejoice and praise on my account. 
I shall now have the advantage of my dear Miss Patty 
Barham,'^ (for whom she had a very tender affection, 
and who has been long in a languishing state,) " for I 
shall go before her." We asked her if she would choose 
a text for her own funeral sermon? She readily men- 
tioned, Whom ike Lord loveth he chasieneth, " That," 
said she, " has been my experience; my afflictions have 
been many, but not too many; nor has the greatest of 
them been too great; I praise him for them all." But 
after a pause, she said, " Stay, I think there is another 
text which may do better; let it be Blessed are the dead 
which die in the Lord. That is my experience now.'^ 
She likewise chose a hymn to be sung after the sermon. 
Olney hymns, book 2d, hymn 72. 

But I must check myself, and set down but a small 
part of the gracious words which the Lord enabled her 
to speak in the course of the day. Though she was fre- 
quently interrupted by pains and agonies, she had 
something to say, either in the way of admonition or 
consolation, as she thought most suitable, to every one 
she saw. To her most constant attendant she said, ^^Be 
sure you continue to call upon the Lord; and if you think 
he does not hear you now, he will at last, as he has heard 
me." She spoke a great deal to an intimate friend, who 
was with her every day, which I hope she Avill long re- 
member as the testimony of her dying Eliza. Amongst 

* The last time she was asked this question she said, (as 1 
have been since informed) " I desire to have no choice." 



MEMORY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. 391 

other things she said^ '* See how comfortable the Lord 
can make a dying bed! Do you think that you shall have 
such an assurance when you come to die?'^ Being an- 
swered, " I hope so, my dear/^ she replied, '^ But do 
you earnestly and with all your heart pray to the Lord 
for it? If you seek him you shall surely find him/^ Slie 
then prayed affectionately and fervently for her friend, 
afterwards for her cousin, and then for another of our 
family, who was present. Her prayer was not long, but 
her every word was weighty, and her manner very af- 
fecting; the purport was, that they might all be taught 
and comforted by the Lord. About five in the afternoon, 
she desired me to pray with her once more. Surely I 
then prayed from my heart. When I had finished, she 
said. Amen. I said, "My dear child, have I expressed 
your meaning?'' She answered, "Oh, yes!'' and then 
added, " I am ready to say, Whj are his chariot wheels 
so long coining? But I hope he will enable me to wait 
his hour with patience." These were the last words I 
heard her speak. 

Mrs. Newton's heart was much, perhaps too much 
attached to this dear child; which is not to be wondered 
at, considering what a child she was, and how long and 
how much she had suffered. But the Lord graciously 
supported her in this trying season. Indeed, there was 
much more cause for joy than for grief; yet the pain of 
separation ^^dll be felt. Eliza well knew^ her feelings; 
and a concern for her was, I believe, the last anxiety 
that remained with her. She said to those about her, 
" Try to persuade my aunt to leave the room; I think 
I shall soon go to sleep. I shall not remain with you till 
morning." Her aunt, however, was the last person who 
heai-d her speak, and was sitting by her bed when she 
went away. A little past six, hearing that a relation who 
dearly loved her, and was beloved by her, and who had 
come daily from Westminster to see her, was below stairs, 
she said, " Haise me up, that I may speak to him once 
more." Her aunt said, " My dear you are nearly ex- 
hausted. I think you had better not attempt it." She 
smiled and said, "It is very well, I will not.'' She 



592 A MONUMENT TO THE 

was then within half an hour of her translation to glory; 
but the love of her dear Lord had so filled her with be- 
nevolence, that she was ready to exert herself to the last 
breath, in hopes of saying something that might be use- 
ful to others after she was gone. 

Towards seven o'clock, I was walking in the garden, 
and earnestly engaged in prayer for her, when a servant 
came to me, and said, " She is gone.'' O Lord, how 
great is thy power! hoAV great is thy goodness! A few 
days before had it been practicable and lawful, what 
would I not have given to procure her recovery! yet 
seldom in my life have I known a more heart-felt joy, 
than when these words. She is gone, sounded in my ears. 
I ran up stairs, and our whole little family were soon 
round her bed. Though her aunt and anotlier person 
were sitting witli their eyes fixed upon her, she was 
gone perhaps, a few minutes before she was missed. 
She lay upon her left side, with her cheek gently re- 
clining upon her hand as if in a sweet sleep. And I 
thought there was a smile on her countenance. Never, 
surely, did death appear in a more beautiful, inviting 
form! We fell upon our knees, and, (I think I may say) 
I returned my most unfeigned thanks to God and my 
Saviour, for his abundant goodness to her, crowned in 
this last instance by giving her so gentle a dismission. 
Yes, I am satisfied, I am comforted. And if one of the 
tears involuntarily shed could have recalled her to life, 
to health, to an assemblage of all that tliis world could 
contribute to her happiness, I would have laboured haid 
to suppress it. Now my largest desires for her are ac- 
complished. The days of her mourning are ended. She 
is landed on that peaceful shore, where the storms of 
trouble never blow. She is for ever out of the reach of 
sorrow, sin, temptation, and snares. Now she is before 
the throne! she sees him, whom not having seen, she 
loved; she drinks of the rivers of pleasure, which are 
at his right hand, and shall thirst no more. 

She was born at St. Margaret's, Rochester, Febru- 
ary 6, 1771. 

Her parents settled at Ansiruther, in Fife^ in 177^. 



MEMORY OF ELIZA CUNINGHAM. S93 

She returned to us, March 15, 1783. 

She breathed her spirit into her Redeemer's hands, a 
little before seven in the evening, on the 6th of October, 
1785, aged fourteen years and eight months. 

I shall be glad if this little naiTative may prove an 
encouragement to my friends who have children. May 
we not conceive the Lord saying to us, as Pharaoh's 
daughter said to the mother of Moses, ^^Take this child 
and bring it up for me, and I will pay thee thy wages." 
How solemn the trust! how important and difficult the 
discharge of it! but how rich the reward if our endea- 
vours are crowned with success! And we have every 
thing to hope from his power and goodness, if in depen- 
dence upon his blessing, we can fully and diligently aim 
at fulfilling his will. Happy they who will say at the 
last day, "Behold here am I, and the children which 
thou hast given me." 

The children of my friends will likewise see my nar- 
rative. May it convince them that it is practicable and 
good to seek the Lord betimes! My dear Eliza's state 
of languor prevented her from associating with young 
people of her own age, so frequently and freely as she 
might otherwise have done. But these papers will come 
into the hands of some such, whom she knew, and whom 
she loved. To them I particularly commend and dedicate 
this relation. Oh! my dear young friends, had you seen 
with what dignity of spirit she filled up the last scene 
of her life, you must have been affected by it! Let not 
the liveliness of your spirits, and the gayety of the pros- 
pects around you, prevent you from considering that to 
you likewise days will certainly come, (unless you are 
suddenly snatched out of life,) when you will say, and 
feel, that the world, and all in it, can afford you no plea- 
sure. But there is a Saviour, and a mighty One, always 
near, always gracious to those wlio seek him. May yon, 
like her, be enabled to choose him, as the Guide of your 
youth, and the Lord of your hearts. Then like her, you 
will find support and comfort under affliction, wisdom to 
direct your conduct, a good hope in death, and by death 
a happy translation to everlasting life. 

50 



394 A MONUxMENT TO THE' 

I have only to add my prayer, that a blessing from 
on high may descend upon the persons and families of 
all my friends, and upon all into whose hands this paper 
may providentially come. 

John Newton, 
Charleses Square^ Oct. 13, 1785. 



ORIGINAL LETTER OF DR. JOHNSON^s, 

0.V THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER. 

January sr, 1759. 
Dear Sik^ 

NoTwiTHSTAXDiXG tlic wamings of philosophers^ 
and the daily examples of losses and misfortunes^ which 
life forces upon us. such is the absorption of our thoughts, 
in the business of the present day — such the resignation 
of our reason to empty hopes of future felicity-, or such 
our un^^dllingness to foresee what we dread^ that every 
calamity comes suddenly upon us. and not only presses 
as a biu"den, but crushes as a blow. 

There are evils which happen out of the common 
course of nature, against which it is no reproach not to 
be provided. A flash of liglitning intercepts the travel- 
ler in liis way. The concussion of an earthquake heaps 
the ruins of cities upon their inhabitants. But other 
miseries time brings, though silently, yet visibly forward, 
by its OAMi lapse^ which yet approaches us unseen^ be- 
cause we turn our eyes away, and they seize us unre- 
sisted, because we woukl not arm ourselves against 
them, by setting tliem before us. 

That it is in vain to shrink from what cannot be 
avoided^ and to hide that from ourselves which must 
sometime be found, is a truth wliich we all know, but 
which all neglect^ and perhaps none more than the spe- 
culative rea^oner, whose thoughts are always from home, 
whose eye wanders over hfe, whose fancy dances after 
meteors of happiness kindled by itself, and who examines 
every thing rather than his own state. 

Nothing is more evident, tlian that the decays of age 
must terminate in death. Yet there is no man (says Tul- 
ly) who does not believe that he may yet live another 
year, and there is none who does not, upon the same 
principle, hope another year for his parent, or his friend; 



396 DR. JOHNSON'S LETTER 

but the fallacy will be in time detected; the last year, 
the last day, will come: it has come, and is past — ^The 
life which made my own life pleasant is at an end, and 
the gates of death are shut upon my prospects.' 

The loss of a friend, on whom the heart was fixed, 
to whom every wish and endeavour tended, is a state of 
desolation in which the mind looks abroad impatient of 
itself, and finds nothing but emptiness and horror. The 
blameless life, the artless tenderness, the native simpli- 
city, the modest resignation — the patient sickness and 
the quiet death, are remembered only to add value to 
the loss — to aggravate regret for what cannot be amend- 
ed — to deepen sorrow for what cannot be recalled. 

These are the calamities by which Providence gradu- 
ally disengages us from the love of life. Other evils for- 
titude may repel, or hope may mitigate; but irreparable 
privation leaves nothing to exercise resolution, or flatter 
expectation. The dead cannot return, and nothing is left 
us here but languishment and grief. 
\ Yet such is the course of nature, that whoever lives 
long, must outlive those whom he loves and honours. 
Such is the condition of our present existence, that life 
must one time lose its associations, and every inhabitant 
of the earth must walk downward to the grave, alone 
and unregarded, without any partner of his joy or grief, 
without any interested witness of his misfortunes or suc- 
cess. Misfortunes indeed he may yet feel, for where is 
the bottom of the misery of man! but what is success to 
him, who has none to enjoy it? Happiness is not found 
in self- contemplation; it is perceived only when it is re- 
flected from another. 

We know little of the state of departed souls, because 
such knowledge is not necessary to a good life. Reason 
deserts us at the brink of the grave, and gives no farther 
intelligence. Revelation is not wholly silent. ^ There is 
joy among the angels in heaven over a sinner that re- 
penteth.' i\.nd surely the joy is not incommunicable to 
souls disentangled from the body, and made like angels. 

Let hope, therefore, dictate what revelation does not 
confute — that the union of souls may still remain; and 



ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER. 397 

that we^ who are struggling with sin, sorrow, and infir- 
mities, may have our part in the attention and kindness 
of those who have finished their course, and are now 
receiving the reward. 

These are the great occasions which force the mind 
to take refuge in religion. When we have no help in 
ourselves, what can remain but that we look up to a 
higher and greater power? And to what hope may we 
not raise our eyes and hearts, when we consider that 
the greatest power is the bestP 

Surely there is no man who, thus afflicted, does not 
seek succour in the gospel, which has brought life and 
immortahty to light! The precepts of Epicurus, which 
teach us to endure what the laws of the universe make 
necessary, may silence, but not content us. The dictates 
of Zeno, who commands us to look with indifference on 
abstract things, may dispose us to conceal our sorrow, 
but cannot assuage it. Real alleviation of the lo^ of 
friends, and rational tranquillity in the prospect of our 
owa dissolution, can be received only from the promise 
of him, in whose hands are life and death, and from the 
assurances of another and better state, in which all tears 
will be wiped from our eyes, and the whole soul shall 
be filled with joy. Philosophy may infuse stubbornness, 
but Religion only can give patience. 

Samuel Johnson. 



CONSOLATION FOR THE AFFLICTED, 

Haud ignarus mali miseris succurere disco. 



*&* 



It has already been observed^ that affliction is calcu- 
lated to teach us the vanity of earthly affdrs^ and to 
raise our hearts to the only source of und^lusive and 
permanent good. To this it may be added, that under 
this teacher, we often effectually learn th3 truth and 
faithfulness of the Deity in the promises of lis word. In 
prosperity we forget our dependence on the i\lmighty, we 
think not on that arm which constantly supports us. The 
successful, the vigorous and healthy, the rich and great, 
are apt to feel like tlie haughty Eastern maiarch, when 
surveying the impregnable walls, the brazen ^ates, the su- 
perb palaces, and sdl the splendid ornaments of his im- 
perial city, he exclaimed, " Is not this Balylon, which 
I have built for the honour of my majesty, aiid the glory 
of my kingdom?^^ But when once tlie iron hand of af- 
fliction is laid upon us, then we feel our veakness — 
prayer is our natural resource — we cry mghtily unto 
him, who never rejects our humble petitions, vho regards 
the child of sorrow with more than paternal enderness, 
who hears with sympathy the groan of misey, and in 
his own good time affords support and consolition. By 
being thus driven to him, we find that all his promises 
are [I use the venerable language of an aposte] '' yea 
and amen.^^ — ^' In Christ Jesus'^ we learn habtually to 
put our trust in God, and from repeated expmence of 
his faithfulness in every time of trial, we fly to aim; and 
•• cast all our care upon him," witli as much coifidence 
as an affectionate child, upon any alarm, throvs him- 
self into the arms, and reposes upon the bosom of a be- 
nevolent parent. Now this trust in God is both suitable 
and salutary. He who can raise his eyes to Heaven, 
and with an appropriating faith say, " my Fattier, and 
my God,'' needs not, although a child of poverty and 
affliction, envy the rich then- luxuries, nor the great their 



400 CONSOLATION FOR THE AFFLICTED. 

power. In this view of the subject, the writer is not afraid 
to assert, that it comports with the wisdom and benevo- 
lence of the Deity, to produce this result by afflictive 
dispensations of Providence. Nay, considering the de- 
generacy of man, it may be affirmed, that afflictions are 
necessary to bring him back to that state from which he 
has fallen, to that temper of mind without which he can- 
not enjoy the true happiness of his nature. — Should the 
captious pWlosophist inquire, why might not this be ef- 
fected without so much suffering? I answer by another 
question, wiy migfit not the earth produce its fruits with- 
out the labour of man? Why must we now be pinched 
with cold, and ere long be scorched with heat? — When 
will men cease to delude themselves with the notion, that 
our ignorance of final causes does not disprove facts that 
are supported by good evidence? But in this case, we 
are not under the necessity of resting in this answer. It 
is reasonable that man, who has sinned against his God, 
should, by the measures that are adopted for his resto- 
ration, be reminded that he is a sinner. It is right for 
the just Gal to express liis dipleasure against the vio- 
lators of hh law. So far then from complaining of 

the ways of Providence, or objecting against them, we 
ought to atbre and praise, the wisdom and benevolence 
of the Deity, who thus makes the expression of his 
displeasure against sin, the means of the greatest bless- 
ings, the lest enjoyments that are afforded to man. 

And here the writer of this cannot forbear taking no- 
tice of the extreme repugnance which has been manifest- 
ed to the use of the term Judgment, I do not here allude 
only to fhe senseless jargon of infidelity about Chance 
and Fapy and things of this kind; nor to the cry of bi- 
gotiy, finaticism, and I know not what, which has been 
so loudly uttered. — I allude to persons who, in general, 
admit t|ie doctrines of scripture in relation to the divine 
governiient; but yet misapprehending the meaning of 
the w^rd judgment^ cannot bear to think that they or 
their fdends have been subjects of a dispensation of the 
kind expressed by that name. A judgment is not, in 
the scriptural use of the term, universally an act of the 



CONSOLATION FOR THE AFFLICTED. 401 

retributive justice of Heaven. — It is indeed an indication 
of the displeasure of the Deity [we speak after the man- 
ner of men] but it is also mingled with love. So far 
from consigning the object of it to eternal perdition, it 
may prove in the issue the best of blessings. It has often 
happened that the cloud, which for a while ^^ gathered 
blackness, and seemed to be brewing'' " a horrible tem- 
pest'^ has poured down a refreshing shower upon the 
thirsty fields; and the chastisements of Heaven have 
often produced *^^the peaceable fruits of righteousness.'' 
The judgments of God, as all the acts of him who is 
" Love^^^ are intended for the general good of his crea- 
tures. They are a voice from Heaven calling upon men 
to pause, to reflect, to be humble, to repent, to fear God 
and keep his commandments. In a word, they constitute 
a part of the moml discipline under which we are placed, 
and are intended to produce the happiest effects, and 
hence men in all circumstances and places, and of all 
characters, may be the subjects of them» It is for infinite 
wisdom, and justice, and goodness to direct how and 
ivhen they are to come upon us; it is our part humbly 
to submit to them, and wisely to improve them. 

It is believed that the view which has been taken of 
this subject is in general correct; and that thus holy men 
of old were made to rejoice in God's judgments, and 
make them a subject of daily and nightly meditation. 
And is this bigotry or fanaticism? Then is this state of 
the human mind much more favourable to human happi- 
ness than I had supposed. And for the tmtli of this, 
let an appeal be made to the heart of the afflicted. Let 
the mourner hear the consolations offered by the advo- 
cate of fate or chance. " My friend, you are deeply dis- 
tressed; you have met with a most unfortunate accident, 
and you share my tenderest sympathies- — But it could 
not be avoided — It is irrevocable — Dry your tears then 
•—and bear your misfortunes like a philosopher." — Hear 
now the words of christian consolation — "This, my bro- 
ther, is the hand of our Heavenly Father. He chastises 
you; but it is in love. Infinite wisdom sees that this is 

51 



402 CONSOLATION FOR THE AFFLICTED. 

necessary^ or infinite benevolence would not have inflict- 
ed it. — Humble yourself, therefore, under the mighty 
hand of God, and he will exalt you in due time. In due 
time you will see that all things were done well; you 
will rejoice on account of those afflictions more than you 
now grieve for them.^^ 

Philo. 



CONSOLATIONS 
lA' THE DEATH OF I^''FAJ\'TS. 

In Ramah was a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and 
great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, and would 
not be comforted, because they are not. — Matt. ii. 18. 

These words were originally spoken by the prophet 
Jeremiah, concerning the lamentations of the people of 
Jerusalem, at the several captivities prophesied of in 
another chapter, under the moving representation of a 
tender mother bewailing her dead children. The scene 
is laid in Ramah, in the land of Benjamin, which is not 
far from Jerusalem, and in which part of it stood; and 
so Rachel, the mother of Benjamin, is My introduced 
upon this occasion, and made the chief mourner. But it 
is applied here by the evangelist to another purpose; the 
destruction of the children of Bethlehem, which was 
near Jerusalem too, by the cruel jealousy of Herod, at 
the tidings of the birth of the king of the Jews, by the 
^vise men from the East. This prophecy is said to be 
fulfilled in this event; not only accommodated to it, but 
the true sense of the prophecy, and which only had its 
literal and full accomplishment in it. 

I shall consider the case of the death of infants, and 
the comforts which may be drawn from the scriptures 
to sorrowful parents upon that account. This is a case 
Avhich very frequently happens, and to most persons at 
some time or other of their lives. And a tender case it 
commonly is, especially to the weaker sex: several cir- 
cumstances often concur to render it grievous and com- 
passionable; as where it is the child of our youth; the 
hopes of the family; an only, or a lovely child; endear- 
ed by little tendernesses of affection, and early buddings 
of reason and wisdom. And this is sometimes earned to 
great excess: indulgent mothers are apt to grieve, as they 
are to loie, to degrees of inordinacy; and like Rachel^ 



404 CONSOLATIONS IN THE 

mourn for their children because they are not, and refuse 
to be comforted. TJie dear image is always before my 
eyes; methinks I see and hear it wherever I go: I can- 
not put the thoughts of it out of my mind: but, 0! the 
grief 

I shall propose the proper grounds of support, and 
method of relief, in this case. 

1. Consider the sovereignty and dominion of the great 
God. This is always fundamental in every instance of 
this general case, the superior right of the great God, to 
our own right, and every other, in what is most our owti, 
our persons and our lives. We ourselves are more his 
than we are our own, and more entirely at his disposal: 
We are his peojile, for he hath made us, and not we our- 
selves.^ And we are not our own, for we are bought with 
a price.\ We are absolutely his upon the highest claims, 
of creation and redemption, as nis creatures, and his 
purchase. So we often find that God challenges a pro- 
priety in the lives of his creatures; See now that I, even 
I am he, and thei^e is no God with me: I kill and I make 
alive; I wound and Iheal.X Yea, the prophet represents 
his right in the souls of his creatures; Behold all souls 
are mine, as the soul of the father, so also the soul of 
the son is mine.^ 

This must reasonably hold with greater strength, in 
the case of every enjoyment of life, as the nearest re- 
lation, and the best possession of this world. Holy Job 
acknowledges the sovereignty of the great God in the 
present case, and comforts himself with this considera- 
tion, Avhen all his w orldly substance was destroyed, and 
his whole family was cut off, by a hand of violence, and 
with all the circumstances of horror. The last message 
brought him was this, Thy sons and daughters were eat- 
ing and drinking, in their elder brother^ s house, and a 
mighty ivind from the wilderness smote the four comers 
of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they 
are dead. Upon this he rent his garments, and shaved 
Ms head, and fell down upon the ground, and worship- 

* Psalm Co. t 1 Cor. vi, 20. ^ Deut. xxxii. 39. § Ezek. xviii. 4. 



BEATH OF INFANTS. 405 

^ed^^ expressions and posture of reverence^ as well as 
grief: he appeared as a worshipper as well as a mourn- 
er, upon this extraordinary affliction, and expressed his 
devotion and grief together, in tliis humble acknowledg- 
ment, Jfaked came I out of my mothei'^s ivomb, and na- 
ked shall I return thither: the Lord gave^ and the Lord 
taJceth awaj/y blessed be the name of the Lord,-\ The con- 
sideration of the divine sovereignty or absolute right to 
all his creatures is a silencing thought, which ought to 
satisfy and support. He has taken away, who first gave 
them to us, and who retained the highest right to them 
all along. There is no ground of challenge and com- 
plaint, or any pretence of injury and wrong, in the wise 
and righteous sovereign of the world, in what lies most 
cross, and is most grievous to our minds. Hereupon, 

2. Consider the righteousness of the divine dispensa- 
tion herein. Though God is an absolute sovereign, and 
has a right to do what he pleases with his own creature; 
yet he is a wise and righteous sovereign, who never acts 
with arbitrary will, or unreasonable pleasure. He is al- 
ways bound by his own perfection, though not subject 
to any superior; and can no more act unreasonably, than 
he can unjustly, it is as necessary that he act with wis- 
dom, as with righteousness. Now it is the just sentence 
of the broken law^, and the natural effect of our fallen 
state, that we become mortal. If man had never sinned, 
he had never died, but had been immortal. The original 
sentence, founded upon tlie greatest reason, was imme- 
diately executed in our subjection to death. In the day 
tJiou eatest thereof tliou shalt surely die. And it is the 
righteous appointment of heaven, for it is appointed to 
men once to die: they must die some time or other. This 
is founded in reason, and justice, and has been absolute 
and universal to the whole race, excepting only in two 
instances, by an extraordinary favour, and for special 
purposes. But noAV the season and circumstances of our 
death, the kind and manner of it, in what stage of life, 
or period of time: is a reserve of wisdom, and matter of 

* Job i. 18, 19, 20. t Job i. 21. 



406 CONSOLATIONS IN THE 

pleasure^ and lies in the breast of the Sovereign Dis- 
poser and Lord of Life! 

Upon this footing it is easy to account for the righte- 
ousness of his conduct in the death of infants; for they 
are under the common sentence of death, and born mor- 
tal, and subject to death: they are a part of the spoils 
and triumph of death in this world. The apostle says, 
Sy one man sin entered into the wavid^ and death by shiy 
and so death passed upon all men, in whom all have sin- 
ned;^ which holds true of all men. He is tliought by 
good interpreters, to have some reference to the case of 
infants in that expression in a following verse; J^ever- 
theless death reigned from Adam, to Moses, even over 
those who had not sinned after the similitude ofMam^s 
transgression:^ i. e. either before any positive law was 
given which tlireatened death; for until the law sin was 
in the icorld.'X or who had not sinned in their own per- 
sons, as Adam did, but only as tlescendants from sinful 
Adam, and the posterity of mortal creatures. And then 
God has done us no wrong, or acted an unrighteous thing, 
when he snatches a beloved child from the tender mo- 
ther's embraces, or gathers a blooming flower, and nips 
it in the blossom; though it just opens as a flower to the 
heat of the sun, and shuts again at night, when the warm 
influences retire; or shrinks and withers by a cold frost, 
or blasting wind. It was a noble saying of one of the 
ancients, upon the tidings of his son's death, " I knew 
that I begat a mortal.'^ J^Tovi me genuisse mortalem. 

3. Consider that they are in covenant with God, and 
we have reason to believe well of their future state. It 
would be a melancholly thing if we had reason to think 
that they were lost, or perish; when they die out of tliis 
world, or we were altogether in the dark about their fu- 
ture state. And though it is true the scriptures do not 
speak much of the state of infants, because it does not 
so immediately concern us to know it; they are written 
for the adult, who are only capable of using them, and 
designed to instruct us in the great and important truths 

* Rom. V. 12. t Rom. v. 14. t Rom. v. 13. 



DEATH OF INFANTS. 407 

which relate to our present duty and future hopes; not 
to gratify a vain curiosity, or amuse us with unconcern- 
ing speculations: yet there are some principles laid do^vn^ 
and intimations given, which are sufficient to support 
such apprehensions, at least^ as to the infants of good 
men. 

Indeed some have thought that all infants dying bap- 
tized are certainly saved.* And a very learned and ac- 
curate person has lately contended for the salvation of 
all infants,! whether of christians or heathens; and that 
by the addition of the whole infant world, the number 
of the saved will be greater than that of the damned. 
But 1 doubt we cannot easily be certain of this, how 
desirable soever it may appear to be true, and that it is 
saying more than we have any sufficient ground in the 
scripture to support. Nor dare I venture to deny it nei- 
ther, or say absolutely that it is not so: it may be so for 
aught I know, and it is certainly a very agreeable thought, 
if it could be made good. But I think we should not be 
wise above what is written, or pretend to greater cer- 
tainty in the matter than we have sufficient means to 
come at. 

But now with respect to the infant- seed of good men 
the case seems more plain, for they are in covenant with 
God with their believing parents, and entitled to par- 
don and life upon that ground. This was tlie tenor of 
God's covenant with Abraham; / itill establish a cove- 
nant between me and tJiee^ and thy seed after thee^ in 
their generation^ for an everlasting covenant, to be a God 
unto thee, and thy seed after thee. And the token of the 
covenant was the circumcising the flesh of the foreskin^ 
and that at eight days old.X This was a visible mark of 
distinction from others, and of separation and devoted- 
nefis to God. The apostle says, that Mraham received 

* It is certain by God's word, that children who are baptized, 
dyinof before they commit actual sin, are undoubtedly saved. — 
Rubrick after the office of baptism, 

t Professor Simpson of Glasgow, in his answer to Mr. 
Webster. 

± GcTi. xvii. r— II, 12. 



408 CONSOLATIONS IN THE 

the sign of circumcision, the seal of the righteousness of 
faith which he had, being yet uncircumcised, that he 
might be the father of them ivho believe,^ It related to 
him as a believer, and the father of them who believe. 
And he testified to every man who is circumcised^ that 
he is a debtor to the ivhole law.-\ The gospel-covenant 
extends to adult persons, who heartily consent to it; and 
to their infant-seed till they come to be capable of act- 
ing for themselves, and consenting in their own persons. 
Thus when they brought to our Lord little children, 
that he should lay his hands on them and pray, 
and the disciples rebuked them, he said, Suffer little 
children to come to me, and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven.'X i. e. such belong to my king- 
dom, as well as those of such a temper, and that whe- 
ther you understand it of the kingdom of his grace in 
this world, or the kingdom of glory in the other. They 
are infant disciples and members of Christ, as they are 
infant members of the families to which they relate. The 
apostle tells the convinced Jews, The promise is to you, 
and to your children^ as well as to all afar off, and as 
many as the Lord our God shall call.^ And he sets it 
upon the plan of God's covenant vaih Abraham, and 
makes it extend to all the spiritual seed, or true believ- 
ers. And if ye are Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, 
and heirs according to the promise; according to the te- 
nor of God's covenant with Abraham, that he would be 
his God, and the God of his seed.\\ They seem to be con- 
sidered as parts of their parents, and one with them in 
a moral consideration, and to stand upon the same foot- 
ing with them, by virtue of God's covenant with them; 
and therefore the apostle represents them as the branches 
of a tree, and says. If the root is holy, so are the branch- 
es;** and he says, the unbelieving husband is sanctified 
by the wife, and the unbelieving wife by the husband; else 
tvere your children unclean, but now are they holy;\f 

* Rom. iv. 11. t Gal. v. 3. ^ Matt. xlx. 13, 14« 

§ Acts ii. 39. 1) Gal. iii. 29. ** Rom. xi. 16. 

ft 1 Cor, vii. 14. 



DEATH OF INFANTS. 409 

Tvliicli I imderstaud of relative holiness, or a covenant- 
relation to God. 

This is a great consolation to a good man, that his 
departed child is accepted of God, and in covenant with 
him; that he is owned as an adopted child of God, and 
entitled to the heavenly inheritance. Thev have reason 
to believe, that he is now with God, and received by 
the Saviour of men, and lover of little children. If he 
would not have them kept from him here, he will not 
reject them hereafter. If they belong to the kingdom of 
Ills grace, they shall not be excluded the kingdom of 
heaven. And it must needs be very uncomfortable, if it 
w ere otherwise with them. 

What the happiness of an infant will be in the other 
world, we cannot certainly tell; but only that it will have 
all the happiness it is capable of, and perhaps with great 
improvements to their present state. It is certain all the 
time of life which was wanting to them in this world, 
will be made up with great advantage in the other; and 
it is probable at least that their rational powers, which 
are now limited and clogged by the indisposition of the 
bodily organs, will be set free from present restraints, 
and be enlarged and improved; that they will arrive to 
the proper peifection of the reasonable nature, and a ca- 
pacity of enjoying the supreme good: as the light and 
iniiuence of the sun presently darts into any place when 
the obstruction is once removed. 

4. They have answered the ends of tlieir creation, 
and the purposes for which God sent them into the world. 
Indeed they make a short stay, and are less significant: 
they have lower capacities and feebler powers, than those 
of longer continuance, or grown up to maturity. They 
are not capable of actual choice, or active service. But 
they serve to display the perfections and providence of 
God, and are so many instances of the divine power and 
wisdom, and goodness, in the wonderful formation of 
their bodies, and covering them in the mothers womhy 
where they were fearfully and ivondevfidhj made^ and 
ciiriousJij trrought in the lower parts of the earthy in all 

52 



410 CONSOLATIONS IN THE 

the nice circumstances of their birth^ and the tender care 
watching over them in their infant state; or of his righ- 
teousness and faithfulness in executing the sentence of 
death; perhaps of punishment and rebuke to over-indul- 
gent parents, to try their faith and patience, or teach 
them submission and resignation to the divine vdll. 

It is plain however that God has served his own pur- 
poses by them, and whatsoever he intended by their 
appearing in the world. And every thing is to be valued 
but in proportion to its end, and the purpose for which 
it was made. It were well if it could be said of most 
who die in more advanced years of life, that they had 
as truly answered the ends of their creation, as they 
who die in their infant state. It is peculiar to their case 
that they liave committed no actual sin. They are not 
chargeable with sinful failings, which require a capa- 
city of moral government, and suppose their own con- 
sent. It could not be said they did any thing amiss, 
though they were not capable of much actual know- 
ledge, or any active service; and it may be said of them^ 
what is said of Jacob and Esau, The children being not 
yet horn, neither having done any good oi' evil,^ So that 
how short soever their continuance in this world was, 
and how few purposes soever they were any way capa- 
ble of serving, they have notwithstanding fully reached 
the design of God concerning them here, and in this res- 
pect have the advantage of the adult, that they stand 
under less guilt, though they have done less service. 

5. We know not what they might have proved, if 
they had lived. Fond parents often please themselves, 
with fair appearances and future prospects; of seeing 
them blessed in the world, and serving their generation 
according to the will of God; and of becoming like ar- 
rows in the hands of the Mighty Man for their defence; 
or like olive-plants round about their table, for delight; 
their sons as plants growing up in their youth, and their 
daughters as corner-stones polished after the similitude 
of a palace, -f It is natural to raise then' expectations from 

* Rom. ix. 11. I Psalm cvxxvii. 4. cxxviii. 3. cxliv. 12. 



DEATH OF INFANTS. 411 

children early ripe, of quick apprehensions and well- 
disposed; and yet nothing is more common than to find 
themselves mistaken, and after all the exercise of ten- 
der care in their younger days, all the expense of edu- 
cation and furnitme for service; all their prayers and en- 
deavours for their good; yea, and it may be, after pro- 
mising appearances, and hopeful beginnings too; to see 
them deceive the most reasonable expectations, and 
make ill returns to all their kindness. It is a very rare 
and singular blessing, to have all prove ti-uly good, 
where there are several^ and no one miscarry among 
them. 

Sometimes by natural weakness and an infirm consti- 
tution, or by accidental evils through carelessness and 
neglect, by falls and distempers in their yoimger years, 
they contract deformities, and are disabled for the sernce 
of life: So MejjhibosJieth, Jonathan's son, icas lame in 
his feet at five years old, by a fall from his nurse's arms, 
when she fled away in a fright.^ Or else, which is a 
worse circumstance of things, prove wicked and rebel- 
lious. How often do we hear the groans and complaints 
of pious parents over their wicked children, drawn away 
by ill company, and evil inclinations, contracting ill ha- 
bits, and running into open excesses! Sometimes perhaps 
unhappy disposals of life, unsuitable matches, and un- 
successful affairs, whether by their own rashness, or 
misfortune of others, prove a heart-breaking to tender 
and concerned parents. When Esau married a daughter 
of the Hittites, it is said. Which thing 2cas a grief of 
heart to Isaac and to Rebecca.f It was a bitterness of 
heart to them both, instead of being any comfort and joy. 
And Rebecca tells Isaac, If Jacob takes a wife of the 
daughters of Heth, such as they who are the daughters 
of the land, what good shall my life do mePt I shall have 
no comfort in either of them, or in any thing I have. A 
beautiful and beloved Absalom raised an open rebellion 
against an indulgent father in his old age, set himself at 
the head of a powerful faction, drove him from Jerusa- 

* C SaTTi. iv. 4. f r.cn. xxvi. 35, --: Cen. xxvii. 46, 



412 CONSOLATION is IN JIIK 

lem^ and put bim in danger of liis life, though it pioved 
in the issue fatal to liis own. The prodigal son, who had 
been long entertained in his father's house, with a boun- 
tiful and indulgent care, demands the pm^tion of goods 
which fell to his share^* departs from his father's house, 
goes into a far country, spends his substance in riotous 
excess, and reduces himself to the utmost distress. 

Were it not better to be without children, or to follow 
them early to their graves, than to have undutiful and re- 
bellious ones, or even unhappy and miserable ones? — 
How unreasonable is indulgence to intemperate passion 
for the loss of so uncertain a blessing; and what may 
possibly prove the greatest aiHiction of life, and embit- 
ter all the other comforts of it? Perhaps a kind and 
gracious Providence designs your good by this evil, and 
to prevent a greater trouble and mischief. And then 
how ungrateful is the return? Shall we repine at his 
goodness? I have been informed by them who knew the 
case, of the inconsiderate rashness of a fond mother, 
who passionately prayed for the life of a sick child, 
whatever it cost her. She had her desire; but he lived 
to come to an untimely end, and to break her heart. 

6. Perhaps you have other children remaining. If 
God takes away a beloved child in its infant state, which 
is like blasting the tiower in the blossom, or nipping a 
tender bud; if he makes a breach in your family, and 
lessens the number of it; yet it is a great comfort in that 
case, that we are not quite destitute, and cannot say in 
the language of the holy patriarch. If I am bereaved of 
my children, I am bereaved.\ It is a proper consolation 
in such a case, that there are others left, in whom we 
may take comfort. So we find Eve comforts herself upon 
the death of Abel. Adam knew his ivife again, and she 
hare a son, and called his name Seth; for God, saith she, 
hath appointed me another Son, instead of Mel, whom 
Cain slew;X that is, to be head of the holy seed. And 
Lamech comforts himself with the prospect of a son, 
the heir and hopes of the family. And Lamech called his 

* Luke XV. 12. f Gen. xliii. 14, i Gen. iv. ^5. 



DEATH OF 1:N'FA\TS. 413 

Tcame JS'*oah^ saying, this same shall comfort us concern- 
ing our work and the toil of our hands, because of the 
ground ichich God hath cursed;^ and so under any other 
effect of the ciirse^ for the same reason. 

Grod sometimes removes a favourite child, the darling, 
perhaps the idol of our heart, which is very commonly 
the case; he rebukes the excess of their regard, or pre- 
vents a gi^eater mischief another way: but then if he 
continues others to us, or raises up others in their room, 
it is certainly a very reasonable comfort in the loss of 
any who are taken away. We should not overlook re- 
maining mercies, when some others are removed. Look 
upon the surviving offspring with thankfulness: Take 
the comfort of them who are spared. Rejoice with the 
wife of thij youth, and in the children of thy youth too^ 
in the fruitful vine by the side of thy house, and the olive- 
plants around thy table.-f Is it not a great comfort to have 
Jiealthful and lovely children, a wife and dutiful offspring, 
Jiopeful and promising, though all are not spared which 
God had given us, and that we are not wholly bereaved, 
though our house is not so with God, as it has been, and 
he makes it not to grow. 

7. Suppose the worst circumstance, That 'tis an only 
child, or that all are removed from us.t Job's sons and 
dausrhters were all cut off, bv one sudden and violent 
stroke. It is said, when our Lord came to the gates of 
the city of Nairn, behold, there was a dead man carried 
out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.^ 
The great comfort and support of a desolate widow. 
Why, in this case, vvhich is indeed tender and compas- 
sionate, we are to consider, that we received an only 
cluld from God, and every one of our ciiihlren, for chil- 
dren are an hentage of the Lord, and the fruit of the 
womb his icorJc.\\ 'Tis the Lord who gave, that taketh 
away. They are his gift to us; as Jacol) told his brother 
Esau, when he met him with his children. These are 
the children ichich God has graciously given me,*^ 

* Gen. V. ^9. i Psalm cxxviii. 3. "'^ t Job i. 18. 

€ Luke vii. 12. |j Tsalm cxxvii. 3. ** Gen. xxxiii. 5. 



414 CONSOLATIONS IN THE 

And Joseph told his father Jacob, when he presented 
Ephraim and Manasseh before him, These are my sons 
whom God hath given me in this place. ^ But then his 
right to them remains, and they are more his than they 
are ours; for he is the father of their spirits ^ and we 
only the father of the flesh,-\- He is the sovereign pro- 
prietor, and all our times are in his hands. And may he 
not do what he will with his own? Has he not the right 
of disposal of what he has freely given? Must he ask 
our leave to remove his own, or we complain of injury 
or unkindness? 

Besides, have we not devoted all we have to him, our 
lives and our souls, as well as our children and posses- 
sions? Have we not made a covenant- surrender of all we 
have to God, without exception and reserve? Do not we 
stand obliged by solemn engagements to an hearty de- 
votedness to his interest, and resignation to his will? 
Have we not given up our children to God, in baptism, 
and owned his absolute right, quitted all property, and 
hold only under him? The sense of the baptismal cove- 
nant is plainly this; ^^ I give up my child to God, the 
giver and rightful owner of it: I solemnly acknowledge 
God's right to it, and devote it to his service and dispo- 
sal.'' Can we be supposed to mean any thing less by 
this solemn transaction ? And shall we be grieved or dis- 
pleased, if he sees fit at any time, to take us at our word, 
and try the sincerity of our heart; to exercise the right 
he justly claims, and the power we have freely given 
him? It was the great commendation of Abraham's faith, 
that he readily obeyed the divine will iu the gi'eatest 
difficulty, and upon the shortest notice, and against the 
strongest reluctance of nature. He was ready to offer 
up his only son, dearly beloved, and the son of the pro- 
mise, in whom all the nations of the earth were to be 
blessed, at the plain command of God. This was the 
noblest exercise of faith, and so highly pleasing to God, 
that he had the honour, upon this occasion, to be called 
the father of the faithful, and the fiiend of God. How 

* Cen. xlviii. 9. f Heb. xll. 9. 



DEATH OF INFANTS. 415 

much easier is it to part with a child, though an only 
child, by the stroke of death, from the hand of God, 
than to offer up an only child with one's own hands, 
and present it, in a literal sense, a living sacrifice to 
God? We are ready to say. Who can support under 
so heavy a stroke? Nature sinks and faints, so sorely 
opprest: True, but faith in God can reconcile us to the 
greatest difficulties, and satisfy the mind without inde- 
cent excess either of grief, or complaint. 

But above all, consider the unequalled love of God, 
who gave his own son, his only son for us: God so loved 
the icorld that he gave his only begotten son;^ the only be- 
begotten son who lay in the bosom of the father ;-\ and of 
whom he gave this testimony from heaven. This is my 
beloved son, in whom I am well ]pleased;X and who is 
the brightness of the father's glory, and express image 
of his person. He gave him up as a sacrifice, or sin-of- 
fering, to the stroke of death. He spared not his own 
son, but freely gave him up for us all: He did not with- 
hold or deny him to us, when it became necessary for 
our good; and he did not favour him in the least degree, 
upon that account. He laid on him the iniquity of us all; 
and it pleased the Lard to bruise him; he hath put him. 
to gTnef; thou shall make his soul an offering for sin,^ 
How much greater a thing has God done for us, from the 
freest love, than we can do in duty to him? He parted 
with more upon our account, than we can part with for 
him. How great is the disproportion iu the highest in- 
stance of our obedience to his unparalleled love? What 
is the life of a child of ours, to the blood of the Son of 
God; and why should Ave show so much reluctance and 
grief, when he acted with so free and forward a kind- 
ness to us? 

8. Consider your own coven ant- state hoM'ever. Your 
covenant-interest is secure, whatsoever he removes from 
you: God is yours, and all the gracious promises of the 
new covenant. The eternal God is your refuge: the un- 
changeable God is your friend and portion. Christ the 

*• John iii. 16. f John i. 18. t Matt iii, ir. § Isa. liii. 6. 10. 



416 CONSOLATIONS IN THE 

Son of God is yoiirs^ and all tlie purchase of his blood: 
Ml things are yours, if you are Chris fs.* This was the 
great consolation of holy David in the close of his days, 
and under great breaches and disappointments in his fa- 
mily; Mthough my house he not so with God, yet he hath 
made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all 
things and sure, this is all my salvation and all my desire 
though he make it not to grow.f q. d. This is my great 
relief in the death of my children, and misfortunes of 
my family, that though it is not now as it once was, and 
instead of flourishing and increasing, it decays and de- 
clines; yet Grod's covenant-promise stands good, and 
will be fulfilled. This is my great support and comfort 
under all my family losses and sorrows. But I have 
spoken of this more fully before. 

If God say concerning you, as he does in the prophet 
concerning Jeconiah; Write ye this man childish, a man 
who shall not jwosper in his way.'X the expression denotes 
the certainty and importance of the thing. This was the 
punishment and judgment upon Jeconiah, that in him 
the direct line of the Jewish kings, down from Solomon, 
should fail, and the crown sliould descend to a collateral 
branch. If you are without cliildren, who were dear 
antl desirable, you are not without God, and without 
Christ in the world: not deprived of your best friend, 
and chief good. If you stand related to God, and have 
him your father and friend, you have something greater 
and more valuable than all the friendships, or any bless- 
ings of this world. It is a greater mercy to have God 
our father, than to have the dearest child of our own; 
and to be ourselves the children of God, and heirs of 
the heavenly inheritance, than to have a numerous fami- 
ly, and the greatest prosperity of life; according to that 
promise. Unto them, iclio Jceep my sabbaths, and choose 
the things which please me, and taJce hold of my cove- 
nant, unto them I will give in my house, and within my 
walls, a place and a name, better than of sons and of 
daughters; I will give them an everlasting name, which 

* 1 Cor. ili. 1?. ■'- r. Sam. sxiii. 5. -^ Jer. xsli. 39. 



DEATH OP INFANTS. 417 

sJiall never be cut off,'^ They shall be entitled to the 
privileges of God's covenant, though they have no chil- 
dren; and be wi^itten in the book of life, which will be 
a more lasting memorial of them than any posterity on 
earth can possibly be. In this case there is a more valu- 
able good left behind, than any taken away; for is not 
God himself, and the Son of God, a greater good, than 
the dearest child, and the nearest relation in this world; 
and his loving kindness, and covenant- favour, better than 
life, or any of the comforts and enjoyments of life? 

9. We must quickly go to them, and be with them 
again. It is not an everlasting separation, or parting Avith 
them for good and all. They are not rent from our em- 
bi'aces, never to be seen any more; 'tis only a separation 
for a time; and the utmost distance is only the short con- 
tinuance of this world. It is only the distance of the 
two worlds and states, which is sometimes only a single 
step, for we step out of one world into another: or it may 
bB the difference of a breath; for we no sooner cease to 
live and breathe in this world, but we are immediately 
iu the next. Though the two worlds are vastly different 
from one another in kind, yet they lie upon the borders 
of one another, and are almost contiguous. And after 
many years of life already spent in this world, it cannot 
be vei*y long before we are removed; and always the 
shorter a time, in proportion to the length of our con- 
tinuance here. Parents may reasonably apprehend it 
short, when they have lived to see their children go be- 
fore them, and survive their own offspring. How ever, 
the utmost bounds of our time in this world, is no great 
while, in the ordinary course of nature and providence, 
and we are daily hastening to our long home, and ad- 
vancing forward every moment which passes away. In 
a little while the vail which now parts the two worlds 
will be drawn aside, and a new scene of things will open. 
We shall find ourselves agreeably surprised, and see 
them again, and enjoy them to greater advantage; and 

* Isa. Ivi. 5. 

53 



418 CONSOLATIONS IN THE DEATH OF INFANTS. 

have all the entertainment and delight, which their com- 
pany and presence will be able to give, without the mix- 
ture of present weakness, or fear of separation again. 

So David comforted himself upon the death of his 
child by Bathseba: And lie said, tchile the child was yet 
alive, I fasted and wept; for I said, who can tell whether 
God mil be gracious to me, and the child may live; but 
now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring 
him bach again? I shall go to him, he shall not return 
to me.^ I shall soon be with him in the grave, and in 
the other world; for the dust returneth to the dust, and 
the spirit returneth to God who gave it It must, in all 
reason, be so understood as to be fit to minister a proper 
ground of comfort and support. Thy tender infant, or 
beloved child, has only got the start, and is gone a little 
before. Prepare to follow, instead of grieving immode- 
rately: turn the stream into the right channel; dry up the 
tears from thy eyes, and refuse not to be comforted; for 
thou shalt see them again in the other world, and be with 
them for ever. In the mean time, there is this consolation 
left, that though thou hast brought forth children for the 
grave, yet they are brought forth for God and for heaven 
too; and though thou hast never a child left in this world, 
there are so many more gone before thee to heaven. 

* 2 Sam. xii. 2. 



I 



MONODY, 

TO THE MEMORY OF AN ONLY DAUGHTER, 

WHO DIED, AGED 11. 

BY HER FATHER, 

A COMMON theme, a flatt'ring muse may iire, 

To raise our passions, when she sings for hire! 

She may our wonders or our praises steal, 

By feigning transports which she doos not feel; 

But, when the song from inhred love proceeds, 

And paints the torments of a heart that bleeds, 

The mourning Muse exerts superior skill. 

And dips in tears the wo- depicting quill. 

Our bosoms then with real tortures glow; 

For, genuine sorrow doth from nature flow. 

Ah! what is life, that anxious wish of all? 

A drop of honey in a draught of gall; 

An half existence, or a waking dream; 

A bitter fountain with a muddy stream; 

A tale, a shadow, or an empty sound. 

That ^s lost with sorrow, and with anguish found. 

A fading landscape painted upon clay; 

The source of wo, the idol of a day; 

The sweet deluder of a restless mind; 

Which, if ^twas lost, how few would wish to find! 

Untimely thus the infant budding rose 

Is cropt by some rude hand before it blows: 

Away tlie little soul of fragrance flies, 

And beauty in its bloom unheeded dies. 

Though 'tis vain to wisji for her return, 

Yet, all the ties of nature bid me mourn. 

Can I be dumb when bleeding Nature cries, 

That I have lost the darling of my eyes? 

Oh! can you check the unrelenting sea, 

Or make the jarring elements agree? 



420 MOXODY ON THt 

Can you forbid the tide to ebb or flow? 

Can you restrain the fall of hail or snow? 

Can yon command the thunder not to roar, 

Or drive the beating billows from the shore? 

Have you the art to lull a storm to sleep? 

Such pow'rs alone, can teach me not to weepi 

And since such pow'rs ev^n angels are deny'd^ 

Forbear, a fellow-mortal's grief to chide. 

But, give me license to lament her fall, 

As David mourn'd for Jonathan and Saul; 

Or, if it may with innocence be done, 

As he lamented Absalom his son; 

When in the anguish of his soul he cry'd, 

Would Grod, my son! I in thy stead had dy'd! 

And lend your aid (if any such there be) 

Who love a child, or mourn for one like me. 

Your sympathetic sighs in concert join. 

And blend your tears, your groans, your pray'rs with 

mine. 
But, if there *s none commiserates my case. 
And in no breast compassion finds a place. 
Let not your censure add to my concern. 
Nor smile, whilst I, immerst in sorrows, mourn. 
If you are void of trouble, free from pain, 
Increase not mine, nor wonder I complain. 
I know the stroke is from the hand dinne. 
To whom I must submit, and not repine. 
Though I deplore my loss and wish it less, ■ 

Yet I will kiss the rod and acquiesce. ^ 

A Saviour's blood shall supersede my fears, 
And, love paternal justify my tears. 
When death at first besieg'd this little fort. 
The feeble out-works were the tyi^ant's sport; 
A fever made the first attack in form, 
And then, convulsions took it soon by storm; 
Succours from art were weak, like those within, 
The guards were sickly, and the walls were thin; 
In bad repair the gates and citadel. 
No wonder then, that with such ease it fell. 



^mmmmmM 



DEATH OF A^D A LIGHTER. 421 

Death's icy hands the lovely fabric spoiFd; 

He got a victim; but^ 1 lost my child! 

Five mournful days, Avith trembling hand and heart, 

I play^l the whole artillery of art. 

Five nights I pass'd in sorrow like the day, 

And almost mournM my own sad self away; 

But, when the whole that art could do, was try'd, 

Her lease of life was canceiPd, and she dy'd. 

She dy'd! The conscious whisp'ring winds reply, 

And I, unhappy father! saw her die. 

I saw her die? Can I the deed forgive? 

How can I bear to say I did and live! 

Though long her reason sufferM an eclipse, 

No sinful words proceeded from her lips; 

And though oppress^ with agonizing pain. 

She uttered nothing indiscreet or vain; 

Hence my fond hope, her soul being free from sin, 

ResignM, and spotless, was at peace within. 

Whilst nature yet maintain^ the doubtful strife^ 

And death sat brooding on the verge of life; 

Ev'n then, when all the hopes of life were fled, 

I and the angels waiting round her bed, 

They to conduct her to the realms of day, 

And I to weep, to sigh, to mourn, to pray; 

I kissed her lips; I wipM her dying face. 

And took the father's and the nurse's place. 

Her dying groans were daggers to my heart; 

We knew we must, but Oh! were loth to part. 

I mournM, I wept, I gave aloose to grief, 

And had recourse to all things for relief; 

But, all in vain! The last effort I make! 

I gave — But Oh! she had not strength to take. 

Her fluttering pulse with intermission play'd, 

And then her heart its palpitation stayM; 

And thus through all the forms of death she past, 

Till, with a groan, my dear one breathed her last. 

But who can paint the horror or the pow'r. 

Of Nature's conflict, in so dark an hour? 

The wound was such, that time can never heal, 

No balm can cure it, and no art conce;\l. 



42£ MONODY ON THE 

May that sad day be banish'd from the year, 

Or cloth'd in sable, if it must appear! 

May the bright sun withdraw his beams at noon^ 

And solid darkness veil the stars and moon! 

May all the sands be stagnant in the glass, 

Aud, as the hour returns refuse to pass! 

All clocks be dumb, and time forget to fly, 

And may all nature be as sad as I! 

Let mourning in its blackest dress appear, 

And she be never named without a tear! 

Her name shall live, and yield a sweet perfume. 

And, though in dust, her memory shall bloom. 

Ah! where are now those dear obedient hands 

So pleas 'd to execute my whole commands? 

Where are those feet so early taught to run, 

As lightening swift, unwearied as the sun? 

Or, where those arms, which with such passion strove. 

To clasp my neck, and stifle me with love? 

Where those dear lips where mine were fond to dwell? 

And where that breath which ravish'd with its smell? 

Where is that tongue whose prattle pleased mine ears, 

Where fled the hope of my declining years? 

Where is that face so pleasant when she smiPd? 

Or, where 's the woman acting in the child? 

Where those dear eyes, which with such sweetness 

shone? 
Or rather, where are all my comforts gone? 
Where is that breast where virtue once did grow? 
As roses sweet, and white as falling snow? 
They 're buried all in the voracious grave, 
Where kings are levelFd with the meanest slave. 
The wise and great when there they make their bed, 
Are equalled by the wretch who begg'd his bread. 
'Tis there the wicked can no more oppress, 
And there the weary find a calm recess. 
Alas! the wretched hope in this alone; 
In this confiding, I will cease to moan. 
Till death, this thought shall mitigate my wo. 
And dry those tears which now profusely flow: 



DEATH OF A DAUGHTER. 



42^ 



That when, by heaven's command, I quit the stage, 
Bow'd down by time, and quite fatigued by age; 
My flesh shall rest in quiet by her side; 
Like a fond bridegroom sleeping by his bride; 
Till the last day shall both to life restore. 
When death shall die, and time shall be no more. 
Oh! then, blest shade! my late delight and pride, 
In whom I hop'd to have a nurse and guide; 
When tasteless days shall bow my hoary head. 
And pain or sickness fix me to my bed; 
If I may guiltless call upon thy name. 
And ask a boon without incurring blame: 
Though thou art happy now among the blest, 
Indulge a tender father's last request — 
When some kind angel from this world below 
Shall bring the news, for sure the angels know, 
And shall to thee and other spirits tell. 
That mine has orders to forsake its shell, 
And be transplanted to the realms of liglit. 
Where hope and fear are swallowed up in sight. 
Do thou with heavenly rapture meet my ghost, 
On th' utmost limits of that happy coast: 
Let me receive increase of joy fi-om you; 
Till then, my little saint! Adieu! Adieu! 



ON THE DExiTH OF A CHILD, 

AT DAY-BKEAK. 

BV THE LATE REV, R. CECIL. 

" Let me go, for the day breaketh." 

^^ Cease here longer to detain me, 
Fondest mother! drowned in wo: 

Now thy kind caresses pain me; 
Morn advances — let me go. 

'' See yon orient streak appearing, 

Harbinger of endless day; 
Hark! a voice the darkness cheering, 

Calls my new-born soul away. 

^^ Lately launched, a trembling stranger. 
On this world's wild boisterous flood; 

Pierced with sorrows, tossed with danger, 
Gladly I return to God! 

^' Now my cries shall cease to grieve thee, 
Now my trembling heart find rest; 

Kinder arms than thine receive me. 
Softer pillow than thy breast. 

^•' Weep not o'er these eyes that languish, 
LTpward turn'd toward their home; 

Raptur'd they '11 forget all anguish, 
While tbey wait to see thee come. 

^' There, my mother! pleasures centre — 
Weeping, parting, care, or wo. 

Ne'er our Father's house shall enter — 
3Iorn advances — Let me go. 

54 



426 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 

" As through this calm^ this holy dawning, 
Silent glides my parting breath, 

To an everlasting morning- — 
Gently close my eyes in death. 

'^ Blessings endless, richest blessings, 
Pour their stieams upon thy heart! 

(Though no language yet possessing) 
Breathes my spirit ere we part. 

" Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends me, 
Though again his voice I hear; 

Rise! May every giace attend thee, 
Rise! and seek to meet me there!'* 



LINES 

WRITTEN UPON THE TOMBSTONE OF AN INFANT. 

ADDRESS OF AN INFANT. 

In this dark, cold cell of earth, 
Soon was I prison'd after birth; 
Scarce the dawn of life began, 
Ere Death dissolved my little span. 
I no smiling pleasures knew; 
I no gay delights could view: 
Joyless sojourner was I, 
Only born to weep and die! 
Yet, though to man's imperfect view, 
My days appear so sad, so few. 
Their mem'ry swells my present bliss; 
My wo 's exchanged for happiness! 

REPLY OF A CHRISTIAN. 

Happy infant! Early blest! 
Rest, in peaceful slumber rest; 
Early rescued from the cares. 
Which increase with growing years. 
No delights are worth thy stay. 
Smiling as they seem, and gay; 
Short and sickly are they all, 
Hardly tasted, ere they fall. 

All our gaiety is vain; 
All our laughter preludes pain: 
Lasting only and divine. 
Is an innocence like thine. 
Escap'd from sorrow, vice^ and pain, 
No conflict canst thou now maintain 



428 LINES ON THE TOxMBSTONE OF AN INFANT. 

With feeble Nature's various woes, 
Which peace and happiness oppose. 
But^ object of redeeming love! 
Thou 'rt calFd to endless joys above; 
Where thy fond parents hope to soar, 
And meet thee, ne'er to separate more. 



THE FOLLOWING LINES 
^BE SELECTED FROM THAT MJJSTUAL OF PIETF, 

BE. YOUNG^s NIGHT THOUGHTS. 



^' Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene, 

^Resumes them to prepare us for the next. 

Affliction is the good man^s shining scene; 

Prosperity conceals his brightest ray: 

As night to stars, wo lustre gives to man. 

Grief! more proficients in thy school are made, 

Than Genius or proud Learning e'er could boast. 

Amid my list of blessings infinite 

Stands this the foremost, ^^tJiat my heart has hledP 

'Tis Heav'n's last efibrt of good will to man. 

When Pain can't bless, Heav'n quits us in despair. 

When by the bed of Languishment we sit, 

Or o'er our dying friends in anguish hang, 

Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head, 

Number their moments, and in ev'ry clock 

Start at the voice of an Eternity^ 

See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift 

An agonizing beam at us to gaze. 

Then sink again, and quiver into death, 

That most pathetic herald of our own; 

How read we such sad scenes? As sent to man 

In perfect vengeance? No; in pity sent. 

To melt him do^vn like wax, and then impress 

Indelibly Death's image on his heart. 

Bleeding for others, trembling for himself. 

We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we smile; 

The mind turns fool, before the clieek is dry: 

Our quick returning folly cancels all; 

As the tide rushing razes what is writ 



4S0 EXTRACT FROM YOUNG's NIGHT THOUGHTS. 

In yielding sands, and smooths the lettered shore. 

In death's uncertainty thy danger lies. 

Is death uncertain? Therefore thou be fixM; 

Fix'd as a sentinel, all eye, all ear, 

All expectation of the coming foe. 

Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear^ 

Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, 

And Death surprise thee nodding. Watch! be strong! 

Thus give each day the merit and renown 

Of dying well, though doom'd but once to die. 

Each branch of piety delight inspires: 

Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next. 

O'er Death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides. 

Patience and Resignation are the pillars 

Of human peace on earth. Though tempests frown, 

Though nature shakes, how soft to lean on Heav'n; 

To lean on Him, on whom Archangels lean! 

In ev'ry storm that either frowns or falls. 

What an asylum has the soul in pray'r! 

Pray'r ardent opens Heav'n, lets down a stream 

Of glory on the consecrated hour 

Of man jn audience with the Deity. — 

A soul in commerce mth her God, is Heav'n; 

Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life. 

The whirls of passion and the strokes of heart.'^ 



PRAYERS 

ACCOMMODATED TO THE VARIOUS INSTANCES OF MORTALITY. 

IJSrTROnUCTOEY PRAYER. 



O THOU Omniscient^ Omnipotent, and Omnipresent 
Being, who hast placed thy creature man, in the general 
scale of creation, " but a little lower than the angels/' 
and hast endowed him with Reason to discern what is 
good, and Revelation to teach him what tliou requhest 
of him; together with faculties by which he may know 
and hold communion with his God; enable me, I be- 
seech thee, by the assistance of thy Holy Spirit, so to 
elevate my affections, and direct my desires to thee, 
that my petitions, my prayers, and praises may be ac- 
ceptable in thy sight: look with compassion upon my 
infirmities, and grant that, in all my troubles, I may put 
my whole trust and confidence in thy mercy, and ever- 
more serve thee in holiness and pureness of living, to thy 
honour and glory, through Jesus Christ, my Redeemer 
and Intercessor. Amen. 

PRAYEll 

For a Parent on the death of a Child. 

Almighty and eternal God, to whom alone belong 
the issues of life and death, and who dost not willingly 
afflict, or grieve the children of men, sanctify to me, I 
beseech thee, the dispensation of tliy divine providence 
by which I have been deprived of my beloved cliild. 
With the most profound submission I bow beneath thy 
parental chastening. — " Thy will be done,^^ O heavenly 
Father! Enable me, I beseech tliee, to receive this af- 
flictive visitation as becometh a disciple of thy blessed 
son: may I experience the consolation offered by his 
Gospel, and improve the event, to the furtherance of my 



4S£ PRAYERS. 

own salvation, by increasing my diligence in preparing 
for my departure from this world. By the atonement and 
intercession of our divine Saviour, I humbly trust, that 
the soul of my dear child is now admitted to partake of 
the '^inheritance of the saints in light.'' 

O Lord, have compassion upon my infirmities, par- 
don my sins, illuminate my mind, sublime my affections, 
purify my heart, and finally receive me into the man- 
sions of celestial and eternal bliss, through the merits 
and mediation of thine adorable son Jesus Christ, my 
Redeemer, to whom with thee O Father, and thee O 
Holy Ghost, three persons, but one eternal, omniscient, 
and omnipotent God^ be ascribed everlasting praises. 
Amen. 

Our Father, &c. 

PRAYER 

IB^'or a Child on the death of a Parent 

THOU great Parent of the universe, from whom all 
things proceed, on whom all things depend, and who 
art worthy of all possible veneration, gratitude and obe- 
dience, with the most profound conviction of my own 
unworthiness of the least of all thy mercies, and of thine 
infinite wisdom and goodness, I desire to prostrate my- 
self before the footstool of thy throne, and in the deepest 
humility of Christian resignation to say — ^^Thy will be 
done!" In thy wisdom thou hast thought proper to de- 
prive me of my tenderly beloved parent, my guide, my 
protector, niy counsellor, and best friend. O thou great 
and good Being! who hast promised to be a father to the 
fatherless of those who trust in thee, and to love them 
more than a mother doth; enable me, by thy divine 
grace, to improve the trials and withstand the tempta- 
tions of the world, and so to recommend myself to thy 
favour by a faithful conformity to tliy precepts, and a 
diligent discharge of the duties of the station in which 
thou shalt place me, tliat when 1 also shall be summon- 
ed by thy messeuger Death, to give an account of my 
stewardship, I may resign my soul into the hands of my 



PRAYERS. 433 

merciful Redeemer^ with holy confidence^ and with hea- 
venly rapture; be received as a good and faithful ser- 
vant, and admitted into thy heavenly kingdom; where^ 
reunited to the soul of my departed parent, we may ex- 
perience together the fullness of joy through the endless 
ages of eternity. 

PRAYER 

For a Husband on the death of his Wife, 

O THOU omnipotent Creator, Preserver, and Gover- 
nor of the Universe! the Father of our spirits! the In- 
spector of our conduct! and the Rew arder and Punisher 
of our thoughts, words, and actions! look down in mer- 
cy, I beseech thee, upon me and my bereaved, aflflicted 
family. — Enable us by thy divine grace to suppoii; and 
improve the agonizing dispensation with which thou 
hast been pleased to visit us. May the death of my be- 
loved wife teach me to quicken my preparation for the 
exchange of worlds which she has now experienced. 
May I imitate her virtues, and endeavour to purify 
myself by penitence and prayer for admission into thy 
heavenly kingdom, where I tiust she is enrolled among 
the faithful disciples of thy blessed Son. O Father of 
mercies, have mercy upon me! May I learn righteous- 
ness by the things which I suffer, and without murmur- 
ing at the chastenings of thy providence, may I at all 
times, with Christian resignation and confidence, calmly 
submit to thy divine will: and may I so pass through 
the waves of this toilsome and tempestuous life, that I 
may finally arrive at the haven of celestial rest and hap- 
piness, where, reunited to the soul of my dear departed 
wife, we may enjoy together the felicity of Heaven 
through the endless ages of eternity. 

Almighty Father, alleviate the sorrows of my heart! 
Comfort me with the blessed influence of thy grace, 
that I may subdue the rebellious opposition of my de- 
praved passions to thy divine and infinitely wise decrees; 
and may the remainder of my days on earth be devoted 
to a diligent preparation for death and judaiment: cre- 



434 PRAYERS. 

ate in me a contrite heart, O God, and enable me by 
the aid of thy Holy Spirit, to redeem the time I have 
mispent in folly or in sin, in forgetfulness of thee, and 
disobedience to thy laws. Have mercy upon me, O God! 
for the sake of Jesus Christ thy Son, my Mediator, In- 
tercessor, and Redeemer. Amen. 
Our Father, &c. 

PRAYER 

For a Wife on the death of her Husband. 

"Thy will be done!'^ Almighty Father! I desire to 
bow, O thou infinitely great, good, and glorious Being, 
who art the author of our existence, and the giver of 
every good gift to man! — I desire to bow, with the 
most devout submission, to that dispensation of thy di- 
vine Providence which hath deprived me of my earthly 
protector, and best friend. " The sorrows of my heart 
are enlarged — O bring thou me out of all my troubles!" 
Give me grace, I humbly beseech thee, to submit to thy 
divine will, and derive from the afflicting event that spi- 
ritual improvement which may tend to the advancement 
of my eternal interest. Grant, Lord! that it may 
awaken in me a more alarming consciousness of my 
own approaching dissolution, and quicken my diligence 
in preparing for its occurrence. May the recollection of 
the various exertions of my departed husband for the 
interest and support of his family, now by him for ever 
discontinued, excite a full conviction of the increase of 
my responsibility, and induce more active endeavours to 
fulfil the obligations which now rest solely upon me as 
[a parent and] the head of a family. Enable me, O 
Heavenly Father! by the inspiration of thy Holy Spi- 
rit, to think and to do such things as shall render me 
acceptable in thy sight, and, when the period of my 
probation shall be ended, procure my admission into thy 
heavenly kingdom, through the merits and intercession 
of thy blessed Son, my Redeemer, in whose compre- 
hensive words I further implore thy favour and forgive- 
ness. 

Our Father^ &c. 



PRAYEHS, 435 

PRAYER 

On the death of a Friend. 

Almighty and eternal God^ Creator of all things^ 
Judge of all men! — Under a deep conviction of thine 
unerring wisdom and goodness^ I most humbly beseech 
thee to sanctify the afflictive visitation of thy Providence, 
in the loss of my beloved friend; may it lead me to make 
more active and earnest preparation for the period of my 
own departure from this state of trial: may I more fre- 
quently and effectually consider the shortness and un- 
certainty of the time afforded me to work out my eter- 
nal salvation, and of the awful responsibility of my cha- 
racter as a rational and immortal Being — -may the means 
of grace not be offered to me in vain — may the hopes of 
eternal glory animate me to discharge every Christian 
duty enjoined by thy blessed son; that when I shall be 
called, like my departed friend, to give an account of my 
stewardship, I may do it with a joy fill consciousness of 
fidelity in improving the talents thou hast committed to 
my trust. Contemplating thine infinite goodness and gra- 
cious promises to mankind through the merits of thy dear 
Son, I humbly trust that the soul of my deceased friend, 
now rests with thee in joy and felicity; and may I so 
pass through this my probationary state in thy faith and 
fear, that we may again be associated in that state of 
everlasting glory, which thou hast promised to all those 
who faithfully trust in thee, and uniformly keep thy com- 
mandments. I most humbly beseech thee to enable me 
so to do, by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit. O God! 
be merciful to me, a sinner; be merciful to me, for the 
sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Our Father, &c. 

A PRAYER 

To he used in a family, on the death of any of its members. 

Holy! Holy! Holy! Lord God Almighty! Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost! three persons, but one eternal 
God! we adore and worship thee, whose infinite poicer 
hath called us into existence, Avhose infinite ivisdom hath 



436 PRAYERS. 

given us those capacities, which, if duly exercised, may- 
best promote thy §lory and our truest happiness, and to 
whose infinite mercy and goodness we are indebted for 
innumerable temporal, and inestimable spiritual bless- 
ings. As becometh frail, sinful, dependant creatures, we 
desire to bow before thee, with unfeigned humility and 
ardent devotion; and in every dispensation of thy Divine 
Providence, whether of comfort or affliction, to bless and 
magnify thy glorious name. We beseech thee to have 
compassion upon our infirmities, and enable us, by the 
inspiration of thy divine gi'ace, to think and to do always 
such things as shall be acceptable unto thee; and as thou 
bast now been pleased to visit our habitation with sick- 
ness and death, teach us, by this near and alarming call, 
to consider our ways, seriously to reflect upon the uncer- 
tainty of life, the awful responsibility of our characters, 
as rational beings and free agents, blessed with the illu- 
mination of the Gospel of thy Son, and the glorious and 
animating promises which he hath there given to Chris- 
tian obedience and fidelity. 

May the summons now given to our departed brother^ 
to render an account of his stewardship, alarm our fears 
for our own safety, invigorate our exertions in working 
out our salvation, solemnize our hearts, by inducing a 
conviction of the unavoidable certainty of Death, Judg- 
ment, and eternity, and quicken our diligence in prepar- 
ing for our own dissolution. Strengthen our faith, in- 
crease our hope, enlarge our charity, and perfect our re- 
pentance. And grant, O merciful God! that we may so 
pass through things temporal, that when called before 
thy awful bar, to answer for the deeds done in the body, 
we may receive the approving sentence, ^^ Well done, 
good and faithful servants, enter ye into the joy of your 
lord" 

Our Father, &c. 

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love 
of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with 
us all evermore. Amen. 

THE END. 



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